


My Heart Used to Be Broken Clockwork

by Jade_Dragoness



Series: The Body Electric [5]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Androids, Clint POV, Clint has self-esteem issues, Dinosaurs, M/M, Requested fic, SHIELD, Sequel, Side Story, potentially disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:51:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has been hearing the rumors of Coulson being a robot for years. He always thought they were hilarious. When he learns the truth...it isn't funny at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, although starting off as a side-story, will have backstory and sequel elements too. And man, is the fic growing long.

_It’s never a good sign,_ Clint couldn’t help but think ruefully, _when I wake up with a pounding headache._ Especially, when he had no idea of how he’d become unconscious in the first place. He lay still, keeping his breathing steady and deep, in case he’d been captured, and through the pounding of drums in his head he listened for enemies. It took entirely too long for him to concentrate on the voices around him, because it felt like some stupid and suicidal (’cause Clint was going to kill them) person had given Thor a full drum set, telling him to go wild. 

Phil’s calm and --incredibly sarcastic if you knew the guy-- voice asked, “Does this look like Antarctica, Mr. Stark?” Clint relaxed since Phil hadn’t used any of the code words indicating hostiles. They were safe. 

Only once he’d relaxed Clint remembered being on the Quinjet and their spectacular crash landing, or at least, their impending crash. 

Stark grumbled something about a volcano, Clint wasn’t really paying attention as he was focused on making sure that all his limbs were intact and all his fingers and toes were exactly were they should be. Other than the blades of grass feeling uncomfortably prickly under his neck, Clint was in one piece. Last thing he’d remembered was scrambling for his seat and Tony yelling from the cockpit before Clint had gotten up close and personal with the Quinjet’s ceiling. 

Everything went black after that.

Clint opened his eyes when Nat swore a blue streak in Russian, turning his aching head to squint incredulously at her. He hadn’t heard those words from her in a couple of years, not since he‘d gone against orders and brought her in to SHIELD. Nat rarely let loose street slang unless she was _really surprised_ , and she was rarely surprised.

Clint followed everyone’s gaze and stared at a dinosaur. A _dinosaur._ A freaking stegosaurus, if Clint was remembering his dinos correctly. Either that was a real life dinosaur or he was hallucinating or--

“I‘m dead, aren‘t I?” he asked groggily. “Because I swear I see a dinosaur.”

“You‘re not dead, it‘s real,” Phil said at once. And Clint couldn’t help smiling a little even through his headache. Only Phil would sound completely and utterly unimpressed by a real and living dinosaur. “I‘m glad to see you awake, Agent Barton.”

“Don‘t want to be seen lying down on the job, sir,” Clint managed to say as he slowly sat up, taking care to keep the pain in his head from setting off a bout of nausea. Phil’s blue-eyed gaze was steady and grounding. Clint couldn’t help but feel both thrilled and surprised at how, when everybody else was gaping at the dinosaur including Nat, Phil would rather look at him.

Clint suspected Phil ‘Professional Agent’ Coulson wasn’t aware of how much of his concern he gave away with these lingering looks, and Clint wasn’t about to tell him about it either. Clint basked in the attention, enjoying it for a long as he could --as always smothering that little voice which kept saying it wouldn’t last-- as he swept his eyes over Phil’s body. To Clint’s mute relief, he didn’t look hurt. There were singed holes in his suit jacket and on the cuffs on his pants and even grass stains on his knees, but other than that Phil looked remarkably unruffled and intact.

Thank god. All gods, except Loki. That guy was still on Clint’s shit-list.

“Please, tell me we have aspirin,” Clint asked, masking the reaction that nearly made him flop back down onto the grass from sheer and weakening relief. Nat gave him a quirk of lips that told him exactly how obvious he was being to her, before she tossed him a packet of pain killers. Then Steve did her one better and tossed Clint the case with his bow and quiver. Clint grinned as he caught it, mentally thanking Steve for knowing exactly what was missing to make him feel better. He had Phil, Natasha and his bow. All was right with the world once again.

Tony cried out in delight as he found the Iron Man case. A moment later, Tony had gotten the helmet out. Yet, Clint thought it was a bad sign when the rest of the suit didn’t deploy as well. 

“JARVIS, _where_ the hell are we?” Tony asked.

As Clint dry swallowed the pills, Phil touched his face gently, checking Clint’s pupils for a concussion. Clint had to resist asking him to kiss it better. It couldn’t work. Phil had some very unwavering opinions about PDAs while on missions. Tony would sooner turn celibate, swear off booze and give up his billions before Phil acted anything less than ‘Agent Coulson’ while on duty.

And honesty, Clint kinda lo-- liked that about him. It made it all the better --and hotter-- once Phil let down those walls.

“JARVIS, are you able to contact anyone? What about McMurdo Station?” Phil asked, as he helped Clint to his feet, apparently satisfied Clint wasn‘t bleeding into his brain. He gave Phil a quick nod to show he was fine, got a skeptically raised eyebrow before Phil turned away to face Tony, who now had the Iron Man helmet tucked between his elbow and his side, freeing up his hands.

“I am unable to contact anyone, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said apologetically.

“Shit,” Clint said, not in the least bit surprised. Of course their luck sucked balls. Their state of the art super-jet had crashed them in a newest version of ‘The Lost World’; of course, it wouldn‘t be so easy for them to go home again. “So we‘re stuck here? Damn it, why did Thor go on vacation again? He could have flown out on his hammer,” he groaned.

“We’re hardly stuck,” Tony said dismissively, as he shot Clint an annoyed glance. “There‘s probably something blocking our signal. We just need to find something to boost it and I‘ll be able to call SHIELD HQ to come pick us up.”

“What do you need, Tony?” Steve asked gently.

Tony rubbed his hands as a brilliant, cocky grin spread across his face. It the sort of grin which normally made Clint want to jury rig something to explode messily on him when he least expected it, but it honestly made Clint feel better to see it now. If Tony thought he could get them out of this, then it was as good as done. Not that he’d ever say such a thing aloud. Clint enjoyed deflating Tony’s ego not puffing it up.

Tony said, “Get me everything electronic you can find and let’s see what I can put together.”

“You heard, Iron Man, Avengers. Let‘s get to it,” Steve ordered, in his firmest Captain America voice. He turned to Phil. “I would appreciate it, Agent Coulson, if you would stay to guard Bruce.”

Clint blinked and for the first time noticed that Bruce was unconscious behind him. There was a nasty large bruise running across his temple and into his dark curls. Jesus. His head had to be more banged up than he thought not to have noticed him.

“Consider it done, Capt. Rogers,” Phil said, as he nodded at Steve before he pulled out his gun and sat next to Bruce on the grass. 

Tony shoved pulled out a tool kit from the pile of stuff next to them and handed it to Natasha, who took it without complaint. He set off at once, carrying the Iron Man case and helmet. Natasha followed with one of her guns in hand. Steve said something low to Phil before he trailed after them, limping slightly. Clint shot Phil a look and got an acknowledging nod in return before he also followed after his teammates, his bow in hand, and a quiver full of arrows at his back. 

Clint wasn’t worried about Phil. In that age old question of who would win in a fight of Spy versus Dinosaur the answer was always: Phil Coulson.  
*-*-*-*

“How in the hell did we survive that?” Clint asked disbelief, as soon as they stepped into the crash site. Small fires burned all around them, only the green vegetation of the semi-tropical jungle they’d crash-landed in had kept everything from going up in a huge fire. There was a wide trail of wreckage and knocked down trees for a good 150 yards, and the smell of burnt chemicals, plastics and who-knew-what-else lingered in the air as a faint miasma.

Clint whistled, impressed despite himself. The only big pieces of debris he could see were the wings and tail and even they were broken into multiple pieces.

“I designed the jet to take an impact,” Tony said, as he looked over the site.

“It doesn‘t look like it,” Clint pointed out. 

Tony snorted, “You‘re alive aren‘t you? Anyway, it seems like the jet’s body made it down in more or less one piece but fuel-line caught on fire. We got pulled out in time and that‘s what matters. If it had been a regular jet then tiny pieces of our shattered and burned bodies would be feeding the dinosaurs.” 

“Thank you for that mental image, Tony,” Steve said, his mouth a grim line. Natasha sighed in exasperation. Clint grimaced in disgust. 

Tony ignored their reactions as he crouched down to pick up a fragment of wreckage. In his hand, gold circuitry gleamed in the sunlight. Tony tossed it aside. “That‘s useless.”

“You’ll need to tell us what you need,” Steve said calmly. 

“Just bring me everything you can find that isn‘t too melted or burnt,” Tony said absently as he put down the Iron Man case and the helmet. Natasha held out the tool kit, but Tony just pointed at the leaf-strewn ground. She rolled her eyes but lowered the kit next to the helmet, anyways. Tony sat down, uncaring about the dirt and opened up the tool kit before doing something fiddly with the helmet. 

Steve, Natasha and Clint spread out and using a search grid pattern they tracked down every piece of debris which had once made up the Quinjet’s computer systems. For about an hour they worked, staying within sight of each other and downwind of the smoke from the last of the burning jet fuel, before they began running out of pieces big and unburned enough to be useful. 

Clint had found just one more piece of tech debris he thought could still work, which he dropped at Tony’s side before he decided he needed a break. Normally, he had more stamina than this, but he’d been knocked around by the plane crash badly enough that he hated moving more than he had to. His bruises had bruises. He was taking a breather.

“Can you really put something together with this junk?” Clint asked.

“I‘ve made better with worse,” Tony said absently, as he poked at the odd spherical thing he had in his left hand. A slender silver cable led out from the helmet and into the port which looked cobbled together from part of Tony’s watch. “JARVIS, ping me.”

“I‘m getting only a 75% signal return on the signal amplifier, sir,” JARVIS answered after a second. “With an additional loss of 0.2% of power.”

Tony swore under his breath in… was that Hindi? Bruce and Tony were spending entirely too much time in the labs together if Tony was picking up Bruce’s favorite curse words.

“That doesn‘t sound good,” Clint said quietly. 

“Fuck, it‘s just-- if the rest of Iron Man hadn‘t been fried with the EMSF which took the Quinjet down…”

“EMSF?”

“Electro-Magnetic Stable Field,” Tony explained. “Whatever we were hit with wasn’t an EMP. There’s similar inference but if it’d been a pulse it would’ve dissipated after a second. And a series of pulses would have taken down JARVIS by now.”

Huh, Clint could actually follow that. Tony was getting a lot better about explaining the science side of things lately. Struck by a worrying thought, Clint frowned as he asked, “Hey, what about your nightlight?”

Tony looked up at him and blinked. “My what?”

Clint tapped his own chest. “How‘s the ticker?”

“Oh, that… it‘s fine,” Tony said dismissively.

“There has been a loss of 47% power,” JARVIS cut in, his British accent making his voice crisp and even more disapproving than usual. “The arc reactor’s power level is now at 30%, and dropping.”

Tony glared at the helmet.

“And you didn‘t think this was something we needed to know?” Steve demanded from right behind them, making Tony yelp and Clint twitch in an aborted move to fire his bow. 

“Jesus, Cap,” Clint breathed as he dropped his arms, returning the bolt to the quiver. “How many times do we have to remind you not to sneak up on us on your red booted feet?”

Steve ignored him as he crosses his arms with rim of his shield was partially visible on his back. With his fiercely determined expression, Steve looked like an image straight out of poster. Hell, considering his high popularity with the public there probably was a poster with him looking just like that.

“Tony…” Steve said warningly. 

“Steve,” Tony replied with a roll of his eyes before he looked back down at the piece of cobbled together technology he was half inventing and half recreating. “The reason I didn‘t mention it is simple. Without a working Iron Man suit to drain away most of the power in the arc reactor I wasn‘t in any danger. Even at 30%, there‘s enough energy in this baby to keep me alive for the next ten years without me having to replace the core. So, it just didn‘t matter.”

Steve sighed heavily, before crouching and putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Okay, I believe you. Next time though, how about letting us know so we don‘t worry? You know your Ms. Potts will have my hide if anything happens to you.”

“Don‘t worry, Cap. I‘m still in warranty condition,” Tony said, looking up and flashing Steve a killer sexy smile which made even Clint reel a little, and he was firmly, and completely taken, thank you very much. Steve --being made of sterner stuff than your average man-- simply smiled back and squeezed Tony’s shoulder. 

A deep roar rumbled out from behind them. Simultaneously, they turned and saw Natasha running flat out towards them. 

“Run! Dinosaur! Run!” she shouted. Nat’s green eyes were huge and scared. Fuck, Natasha never got visibly scared unless she was facing the Hulk on a bad day.

The freaking huge T-Rex which crashed out of the trees kinda explained her reaction, though.

“Fuck me sideways,” Tony muttered, staring as he jumped to his feet. “A T-Rex. Of course. Did we land on Isla Sorna or Nublar?”

“Tony. Run.” Steve snagged the Iron Man suitcase while Tony grabbed the helmet and the unfinished amplifier.

The T-Rex opened its wide jaws and made move to sweep its head down to bite Natasha, so Clint shot an arrow down its throat. The T-Rex roared. Instead of scaring it off, it looked even more pissed. Clint shot it again, using at the last explosive arrow head in his quiver. The arrow flew beautifully through the air but glanced off the dinosaur’s thick dappled green-grey hide before embedding itself in the ground. The tyrannosaurus snarled as the arrow exploded with a low boom and knocked it off its feet. It grunted and lay dazed on the ground for several seconds before it got back up. Thick red blood trickled down from its snout but other than that it seemed unaffected by the blast.

Clint swore in amazement. He couldn’t believe the arrow hadn’t even penetrated the T-Rex’s skin. The dinosaur’s hide had to be like a rhino’s. The explosive head could punch holes in concrete.

“Well, we‘re fucked,” Clint muttered. He wondered, _Why in the hell don’t I have dinosaur-hide rated arrows?_ Okay, the chances of this happening had never been high on the list, but he would’ve said the same thing once about alien invasions.

Natasha flew by him, running so fast her red hair streamed behind her like a war banner. “Stop trying to shoot it and run!”

“You don‘t have to tell me twice,” Clint said and lopped after her. Behind them the dinosaur roared again, louder and angrier than before. The sound was so loud it felt like the pressure wave would pop his ear drums. The noise kicked extra adrenaline into his system and he picked up his feet until he was only a foot behind Nat.

“Technically, that was the third time!” Natasha called over her shoulder. 

“Figure of speech!” Clint protested, and because he never could resist going up against some orders, even Nat’s, he twisted mid-run to face the T-Rex and shot another arrow. The arrowhead exploded in mid-air and custom polymer webbing, strengthened to hold even the Hulk for a few seconds, bloomed out and wrapped around the dino‘s muzzle. 

The tyrannosaurus slowed to a stop, shook its large head and with a loud frustrated huff began stomping around, dragging its snout on the ground. 

“Uh-oh,” Clint winced as a large reptilian foot smashed down on the pile of debris they’d collected. Another stomp took care of the tool kit. Clint turned back around and caught up to Natasha, Steve and Tony who’d found copse of thick, tall trees to hide in.

Clint slid in and flattened himself to the ground, lowering his profile. For several seconds he gasped for breath until he took control of his breathing and brought it and his pounding heart back down to his baseline rhythm. Tony was swearing softly, his voice so low that Clint couldn’t catch most of the words other than the hard clicks of ‘fuck-fuck-fuck’. Steve was clutching the shield in his arms like a security blanket, his eyes closed as he focused on his hearing. Even Natasha was forcing herself to take slow and controlled breaths. She looked calm enough to fool nearly everyone, but Clint could see from the artery in her neck that her heartbeat was racing away compared to its usual low beat. 

_It’s times like these,_ Clint thought with hysterical giddiness, _which really makes me appreciated having the Hulk and Thor on the team, because we could really use them right now._

Nat’s wide eyes stared in the direction where the T-Rex was growling although a huge tree trunk blocked her line of sight. It took the sounds fading off as the dinosaur moved away before she was back to looking cool and collected even to Clint‘s eyes.

“Okay, I‘m no longer going to be able to laugh my ass off whenever I watch the lawyer run into the bathroom to get away because I wish I had one now,” Clint managed to say, once he was calmed the fuck down. His voice still came out more wavering than he’d like.

“I don‘t know what that means,” Steve sighed, resigned at once again missing a pop-culture reference. 

“We’ll watch Jurassic Park when we get back,” Tony promised, giving him a pat on the back.

Clint turned plaintive eyes toward him. “Can we get out of this place? Before I‘m turned into a dino appetizer? Please?”

“The signal amplifier is only halfway done,” Tony said regretfully.

“That‘s a problem,” Natasha said grimly. “The dinosaur stomped all over the pile of scraps you were working on.”

Tony swore again. “Shit, I needed some of those pieces.”

“I‘ll go check to see if we can salvage any,” Steve said quietly. 

“No,” Natasha cut in sharply. “You‘re still limping. I‘m faster on foot than most of you and I‘ll have a better idea of what I‘m looking for.”

“If you find the tool kit, bring that back with you. It’s the only one we‘ve got,” Tony said. “Maybe, maybe I‘ll still be able to pull something together.” But he didn’t exactly look like he believed his own words.

Clint winced and hoped the tools had survived a T-Rex stomp. Steve nodded in agreement, and Clint raised his left fist which Natasha gently bumped with a fist of her own before she slipped out of the copse. 

“We need get back to Agent Coulson,” Steve said, as he looked from Clint to Tony. “We can‘t afford to be split up like this if there are more of those around.”

Clint’s hands twitched. “Hell, yes,” he agreed fervently. Nightmare scenarios of what else could be lurking around the jungle played in his mind’s eye. “One word: Raptors.”

Tony’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “They were exaggerated you know. They‘re not really people-sized.”

“They’re creepy, and they hunt in packs,” Clint reminded him. 

Tony paused, considered the thought and shuddered. “Okay, that‘s a fair point. Although, I feel a bit strange we‘re using a movie from the 90s as a reference for how to deal with dinosaurs.”

“Not even Coulson can have a contingency plan in place for everything,” Clint said, feeling oddly blasphemous for admitting it aloud. 

Tony smirked. “I‘m going to tell him you said that.”

“Fuck you, Stark,” Clint grumbled.

Tony fluttered his eyelids. “Anytime, you sweet-talker you.”

Steve snorted with amusement, making them both stare at him in surprise. He shrugged at their expressions. “I was just wondering how either of you managed to charm Ms. Potts and Agent Coulson with such language.”

“Hell, if I know,” Tony and Clint said simultaneously.

“Jinx,” Natasha said dryly as she slipped back into the copse, badly startling all of them, even Steve. Tony glared at her and received an amused glance. “You both owe me a Coke. Make sure it‘s real sugar, and not that corn syrup that Americans put in everything.”

“Fructose is a real sugar,” Clint argued, as Natasha put down the grimy tool kit. It now had a crack in the casing but otherwise looked to be in one piece. Way to go SHIELD issued equipment!

“Let‘s not have that argument again,” Natasha said calmly, although her eyes were doing that ‘I’m laughing on the inside’ glint which she never admitted to doing. “You didn‘t win last time.”

Clint grimaced. 

“Nothing else made it?” Tony asked. 

Natasha shook her head, “Everything else was too broken up.”

“We‘ll find a way out here yet,” Steve said, firmly. “We just have to survive long enough for SHIELD to track us down.” He looked at all of them with strong determination and soul-deep sincerity. “We’ll _all_ make it home.” 

The thing about Captain America was, even an unashamed realist like Clint, a skeptic like Tony and a cynic like Natasha, totally and completely believed him when he made promises in that voice. Clint was, of the very quiet opinion, that Steve was _magic_. He was so unabashedly _good_ like last minute rescues, an extra candy bar in your pack, hope, faith and all those good things. Although, he’d sooner cut off his arms before admitting it to anyone, even Phil.

As soon as they nodded at him, Steve gave the order to head back to Phil and Bruce.

Clint took point, as he had the best eyes in the group. It had nothing to do with his eagerness to see Phil again. Okay, that was a total lie.  
*-*-*-*

The sight of Phil sitting calmly next to a prone Bruce loosened a tight muscle in the back of Clint’s neck. Phil looked distracted and didn’t notice them come back as quickly as he normally would have which was weird, but considering the whole craptastic day they’ve been having Clint was hardly surprised he was lost in thought.

Phil looked them over carefully, taking in their crestfallen expressions and the scowl on Tony’s face. He asked mildly, “So, we can‘t phone home?”

“No,” Tony groaned. “I was only able to find about half of the components I needed. Everything else went up in smoke or was trampled by the dinosaurs.”

Clint sat next to Phil. “Remind me to build ‘dinosaur’ rated arrows when we get back to New York, sir. They have damned tough hides. Do you think you could get me adamantium arrow tips?” Or maybe he should consider frag arrowheads, although he really would have to be extra careful of innocent bystanders with those. Assuming of course, they ever got away from Jurassic Land before they ended up eaten.

“I believe I have an answer for your problem of lack of components,” Phil said calmly. 

The exhaustion of having fought HYDRA hours ago, crash landing, then having to deal with nearly getting eaten by a T-Rex, slipped away from them as the hope of rescue made everyone straightened. 

Clint smirked. Of course, Phil would have a solution. He wasn’t even surprised.

“Why the hell didn‘t you say so? I almost got eaten by a tyrannosaurus,” Tony complained. “And as cool as it sounds, I don‘t actually want death-by-dinosaur written on my gravestone.”

Clint blinked and they all watched as Phil shrugged out of his suit jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint could see Steve look bewildered and Natasha raising an eyebrow, as Phil rolled up his left sleeve. 

Tony opened up his mouth to say something, what exactly, Clint would never learn because Phil grabbed a huge knife and slit his arm wide open.

“Phil!” Clint cried out, terror stopping his heart. Moving faster than he ever had in his entire life Clint dropped his bow and clamped his hands around Phil’s forearm, hot blood spilling over his fingers.

It wasn’t enough, the cut was too long. He couldn’t stop it!

Steve, Tony and Natasha all reacted nearly as fast, shouting, grabbing and tightening their hands over the long cut until all their hands were stained red. They were all babbling a jumble of nonsense Clint couldn’t hear over the roaring in his ears.

“I‘m fine,” Phil said quietly, cutting through the noise, shutting everyone up. “I‘m not bleeding. Look at my arm.”

Clint wanted to shake Phil. He wanted answers for what the _fuck_ he was thinking but Clint couldn’t get past the awful suffocating fear to get his brain working.

Slowly, Tony, then Natasha and finally Steve loosened their hands. Clint would’ve screamed at them but he couldn’t get past the lump in his throat. To his disbelieving eyes, no more of Phil‘s precious blood dripped out through the long cut and onto the grass. No new blood flowed from the cut. Not even from where Clint’s clamped fingers weren‘t holding on tight. Clint stared at Phil completely at a loss, thinking _‘What the fuck?’_ , in endless repeat one.

Phil looked at him calmly, as if he hadn’t just sliced into his own arm and scared decades off Clint’s life. It was that expression which made Clint think something was wrong, a feeling which dug itself into Clint‘s gut with long, sharp claws. Something was utterly and completely _wrong._ Yet even with that feeling, it was the trust which Clint had in Phil which convinced him to loosen his numb fingers and his hands, and let him go.

As soon as Clint released his arm, Phil did the fucking _impossible_ , pulling back on his own skin until Clint could see that underneath the skin there was metal bones and joints, tendons which looked like carbon fiber and… nothing human. It felt like his heart had stopped all over again. Either that or he was too deeply in shock to even feel it beating anymore. 

Tony said something then Steve said something but all Clint heard was Phil saying softly, “No, Captain Rogers. All of me, every part, is artificial.”

It was too much. 

Clint didn’t even realize he’d gotten to his feet, driven by the need to get away, until he felt Phil’s fingers wrap around his arm, holding him firmly in place. 

“I couldn‘t tell you,” Phil said quickly. His blue eyes stared at Clint with an intensity which would normally left him with weak knees… now it just made him want to _run_. “I‘m classified top secret for the Director‘s Eyes Only, due to matters of international security.”

Jesus, fuck. _No._ Clint couldn’t deal. He couldn‘t hear this.

“Let me go,” Clint growled and tried to pull away but Phil’s hand was unyielding. _Like a machine._ And an insane urge to laugh bubbled up in his chest. Of course… it all made sense now…

“No, this isn’t the time for you to indulge in a temper tantrum, Agent Barton,” Phil said sharply. 

The urge to laugh got even stronger. When was it time to get upset that the man you’ve been fucking for nearly four months (4 months, 2 weeks and 2 days) was a robot? Was there SHIELD protocol somewhere? There probably was, knowing Phil… _fuck_ , just thinking those words made him want to break something, because… he hadn’t known Phil at all, had he. Clint had spent years at his side, running ops, hearing him in his ear, and yet he hadn’t known this. 

Clint _should_ have known because it all made sense now. Why else would someone as fucking perfect as Phil Coulson decide to give him the time of day?

“He‘s right, Clint,” Natasha said coolly. Her voice broke through to Clint because that tone of voice was a never a good sign. Under Nat’s carefully constructed poker-face there was a lot of anger in her eyes, but she also looked at him with a silent promise that she would be at his side to get answers. Considering how unbalanced and out of it he was feeling right now that promise was the only solid piece of ground Clint had under his feet.

“Why have you chosen to tell us now?” Steve asked, his brows furrowed. “If you‘re that top secret shouldn‘t you have kept quiet?”

“Probably but the circumstances changed your need-to-know,” Phil said, and then he said the stupidest thing Clint had ever heard like it was reasonable and obvious. “I want you to use my components to finish your device.”

“What?!” Clint shouted alarmed, feeling his heart again as it lurched and sped up in panic. He practically gave himself mental whiplash at how quickly he went from feeling like his world was falling apart to feeling worried out of his fucking mind. “No fucking way!” he shouted, not even hearing Steve and Natasha speaking. The thought of cutting Phil up like he was so much scrap metal was… fuck no. Not going to happen.

“I recognize pieces of this technology,” Tony said, sounding so calm that it actually cut through Clint‘s building anger. Jesus, everything had to be FUBAR for Stark to be the calm and reasonable one. “It‘s StarkTech, some of is over thirty years old and yet it‘s in pretty good condition.”

“Howard Stark designed me well,” Phil agreed.

Clint was taken aback at how _fond_ Phil sounded. Tony, on the other hand, looked like he’d been clobbered by a Hulk fist, wearing huge brown eyes which make him look like Bambi with a goatee. Clint would’ve laughed, but there nothing was remotely funny about any of this.

“My father made you?” Tony asked. When Phil reaffirmed it he looked more like a stunned fawn. “Jesus, Dad got into _everything_ didn‘t he?” 

It made sense. Who else on the planet other than Tony Stark would’ve had the brains to pull off something--someone like Phil but another Stark?

“The same event which took down the Quinjet has drained my batteries,” Phil said to Tony. “I‘m about to fall into an involuntary standby mode. Take everything you need, I won‘t feel it in that state.”

Clint felt that thump of panic in his chest again. 

“Leave behind what you can‘t use. I‘ll just slow you down,” Phil continued, finally letting Clint’s arm go. Yet Clint didn’t care because Phil’s knees instantly buckled, leaving him sitting on the grass and staring up at Clint with those gorgeous blue eyes, which had been stealing the air from Clint’s lungs for the last two years.

Alarmed, Clint dropped to his knees and grabbed his shoulders. “Coulson? Wait!” 

Phil slumped, yet his eyes remained locked on Clint’s face like he was memorizing him until the awareness in his eyes began to fade away looking too much as if… as if he was dying. 

“What are you doing?” Clint shouted his voice breaking. “No, don‘t go! Don‘t do this! Phil! PHIL!” Phil’s eyes were still open, but there was nothing in them anymore. Clint shook him. “Phil!”

Phil wasn’t breathing anymore.

“Clint. Clint,” Tony said, touching his shoulder. Clint shrugged him off and gently lowered Phil flat onto the grass, clinging to the fact that he wasn’t dead. He was an android; they couldn’t just die, right? He was in one piece. If he would just wake up…

Tony continued, “Clint, this is all very touching but you need to let me have access to his chest so I can finish the--”

Clint spun around and tried to punch Tony in the mouth with all the strength in his left arm with his drawing arm, his strongest arm. He would’ve had Tony spitting out teeth if Steve hadn’t caught his wrist before he could land the blow. 

Tony reared back, his brown eyes widening in shock. Clint wrenched his arm free from Steve’s grip and stood before them.

“Touch him and I‘ll kill you, Stark,” Clint said, cool and deadly. He drew out the knife from his belt sheathe. He wasn’t going to stand here and let Tony _fucking_ Stark cut up Phil, like he wasn’t the most amazing _anything_ to ever happen to Clint. He was hit with a flash-pop of memory of Phil holding him in bed, chuckling against Clint’s neck from something Clint had said. It was so hard to believe Phil wasn’t human… but it honestly didn’t matter, not when he faced the possibility of not having him at all. Clint’s breath stuttered before he forced himself to breathe steadily. Glaring at Tony, he growled, “I‘m not letting you take him apart.”

“Jesus, Barton!” Tony yelled angrily, gesturing at the sky. “Coulson gave me permission! Or do you want to be stuck here until we get eaten by the savage wildlife?”

“Find another way!” Clint shouted, pointing the knife tip at him in emphasis. “You‘re always telling us you‘re such a fucking genius. Do something else!”

“There’s no other way! I can‘t magic tech out of thin air! Even I need materials to work with,” Tony yelled back. 

“Tony‘s right,” Steve added quietly. “You have to let him do this. Stand down, Hawkeye.”

“No,” Clint scowled. “I will do a lot shit, take a lot of crap for the team, but this is were I draw the line.” Clint swallowed down hard, feeling his eyes threatening to water. “You gotta understand, we‘ve been together… dating for months. I can‘t let you do this.”

Steve stepped back like he’d been slapped. His blue eyes filled with sympathetic sorrow. “Tony is there--”

“There‘s no other way, Cap,” Tony said sharply, cutting him off. His stiffly determined expression softened with genuinely regret. “I‘m sorry.”

“I‘m sorry too, Clint,” Natasha whispered at Clint’s back.

Too late, Clint remembered, that out of the entire team he should _always_ keep an eye on the Black Widow. She was the _most_ dangerous of the entire team because if you lost sight of her then you were already screwed since you‘d never see her coming.

The sharp sting of the needle entering and leaving his neck was a soothing caress compared to the ache in his chest at the realization that he’d _failed_ to protect Phil. Clint reflexively attacked. As she danced to the side, out of reach of his knife, Natasha’s face was solemn. Clint dropped the knife a split second later as soon as his brain caught up with him. 

“Tasha…” Clint managed to mumble as his field of vision darkened around the edges. Steve’s strong arms caught him under his armpits as all the muscles in Clint’s body stopped listening to him. Steve carefully lowered him onto the prickly grass.

Tony moved past them without looking back.

“I‘m sorry, Clint,” Natasha repeated quietly, as she hovered over him, her hands brushing away the tears which had spilled out of his eyes, dripping down his temples.

The last clear thought in Clint’s mind before everything went black was-- _Don’t hurt him. Please, please… don‘t…_


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about Natasha was, even though she had pithy jaded sayings for practically all positive emotions (Love is for children. Hope is a poison. Trust is for the naïve.), she really only ever applied them to herself. Tell her that someone who was crushing on her and she’d turn on you the meanest sneer. Mention that she should hope for a rescue and her eyes would be cold and hard. Say she should trust intelligence blindly and she’d look ready to disembowel you with one of her knives. All were habits, remnants from the Red Room, which she hadn‘t quite overcome yet; Clint always thought it was unlikely she ever would since they‘d kept her alive this long.

Yet when it came to other people? Natasha’s sayings didn’t really apply anymore, or at least she was willing to be lenient about following them. Case in point, when she finally had found out Clint’s feelings for Phil Coulson had gone from him liking and respecting the man to outright lusting after him, she’d been deeply amused but hadn’t said a negative word otherwise. But when Clint started having more than just XXX-rated thoughts about Coulson’s… well, everything, to wanting to hold him and have him in his bed. To wanting him to stick around so Clint could watch him sleep and make him breakfast, then she stepped in. Like a terrifying Russian matchmaker, she’d offered her ‘help’.

“I could develop a plan for you with detailed steps and procedures,” Natasha offered, looking weirdly happy at the idea. They both settled down into a shoebox-sized hotel room after their op. They were both too wired to sleep and as had become their habit, once all the weapons had be checked over, reloaded and tucked away within reach, they started playing chess with a small used travel set Clint had bought off a street vender six missions ago.

Poker was too easy for either of them. They were both filthy cheats and proud of it too. Anyway, poker wasn’t nearly as much fun without a newly minted SHIELD handler to fleece or junior agent to terrify.

“I don‘t need help,” Clint protested, after making a move with his rook. He eyed Natasha suspiciously, more worried about what she was plotting in that gorgeous head of hers than by what her next chess move would be.

“You‘re starting to pine,” Natasha pointed out. “All those emotions are disturbing and disruptive. To me.”

Clint grimaced. He hadn’t thought he’d been that bad. “Shit, Nat. I‘m fine. Don‘t worry about it.” He didn’t say that he was pretty certain that Coulson didn’t have anything more than strictly professional regard towards him because Clint had tried flirting, damn it. He’d worn tighter than usual shirts. He slowly stripped whenever he had to change gear in front of Coulson and even flexed his arms more a lot more than he really needed to when stretching but Coulson never looked at him twice. He tried everything except throwing himself naked at the man because he had his pride. 

Hell, nothing worked.

In all honesty, Clint was contemplating reconsidering his stance on the naked pouncing. Only the worry that Coulson could politely help him to his feet as he completely ignoring the seduction attempt kept Clint from making it his next plan of action. But Clint‘s real fear, a fear which kept him from just flat out asking the man out for dinner, was that once Coulson realized Clint’s feelings for him went way past professional regard he would end up looking at Clint as if he was a roach crawling out of the woodwork for daring to think he could have more. Even knowing intellectually that Coulson wasn’t the type of person who would sneer in disgust when turning someone down (he was the least intentionally cruel person Clint had ever met), Clint couldn’t quite shake his certainty that that would exactly what he’d get. Then Clint would have to find an isolated corner of the world where he could hide away until his heart stopped hurting…so pretty much forever.

Natasha tilted her head as she watched him, her sharp eyes assessing him with unnerving focus. “You‘ve been feeling like this for three months.”

“I thought you didn‘t give a damn about romance,” Clint said warily. “I‘ve heard you quote that line at me how many times now?”

“I don‘t,” Natasha agreed with a casual shrug. “That doesn‘t mean I’m not interested in the outcome when it involves someone I know.”

Clint grinned, fluttering his eyelashes as he thickened his voice into a Southern drawl. “Are you trying to say you care about little ol’ me?” He pressed his hand to his chest, widening his eyes in mock-wonder.

Natasha lowered her eyes and peeked up through her long sooty lashes, and then she moved a bishop in a quick move, taking out his rook. “How do you know I wasn‘t talking about Coulson?”

He swore and stared down at the worn chessboard. After a couple of seconds, Clint smirked and shifted a pawn to snag her knight. “Because I know I‘m your favorite.”

Natasha’s wrinkled nose of disgust was cute, and he was never going to say it out loud in case she killed him in his sleep. “You‘re tolerable,” she finally admitted. His grin widened. “Barely.” She stared at him. “If Coulson will make you happy, I can make it happen.”

It never ceased to amaze him that Natasha continued to hold onto the belief that she owed him something, even after a few years of working together, saving each other’s lives and becoming closer than two agents really should but doing so for both their sakes. She’d told him once, she’d been unraveling those years she’d been a free agent from the Red Room. She’d been remade from a little girl with a love of dancing to a ruthless spy and she’d been becoming a psychotic killer who was drowning in a sea of blood until Clint had reached in and dragged her out, giving her space to _breathe_.

As they lay curled up in a cement brick hideout with more holes than Swiss cheese, hiding from _la policia_ several missions ago, she’d whispered into the darkened room that even if she cleared the red from her ledger, it would take her the rest of her life to payback her debt to him. He’d saved more than her life when he’d chosen to bring her in instead of killing her. Clint had saved her _sanity_ , and if she’d had a soul, then he’d managed to save that too.

“As much as I like the idea of finding a tied-up Coulson on my bed,” Clint said, with raised eyebrows, “I don‘t think it‘s gotten to that point.”

“Alright, I’ll let you be, but if this goes on too long, I _will_ step in,” she said quietly, steel in her voice.

With that worrying and terrifying promise, Clint nodded easily and changed the subject. 

After the mission with Nat, Clint tried again, going so far as to volunteer to be Coulson’s driver after Puente Antiguo even though Clint had come to New Mexico driving a sweet red Mustang which he’d left behind for Agent Sitwell. It had just been too perfect of an opportunity to pass up, getting to spend couple days alone with Coulson. Clint even went so far as get them a room with only one bed whenever they stopped for the night with the desk managers bribed to lie about their occupancy, if Coulson asked. Clint thought it was the most unsubtle hint ever and that Coulson would catch on to Clint’s damned oblivious interest. Only nothing happened during the trip since Coulson spent most of his time reading and writing reports or sleeping, staying completely on his side of the bed.

It figured.

Yet Clint had been oddly content simply to get to be at Coulson’s side, spending more than a couple hours staring at him as he slept, which had forced Clint to admit to himself that maybe Nat had a point. He had it bad.

A week later, Clint was assigned by Fury to be the head of security to a joint SHIELD and NASA project at a Dark Matter Lab in the middle of nowhere. His main job was protecting a cube with glowered blue and white like bottled lightning and disturbingly… made noises like muted screams right at the threshold of Clint’s hearing. 

Then Loki happened.  
*-*-*-*

Clint woke up slowly, sluggishly; feeling like he was struggling against thick black mud while trying to reach for a hand that should’ve been there to pull him out. For a long confused second, the scene behind his eyelids became lit with electric blue light, as he drew back to shoot a bolt straight into Phil‘s chest. 

Clint surged up, a yell choked in his throat as he thrashed all the way awake. 

He was on his side as he opened his eyes, panicking. He went abruptly still as the first thing he saw was Phil, unmoving and flat on his back; Tony with his left hand buried wrist deep into Phil’s bare chest while Tony’s right hand wielding a knife.

A firm hand clamped right over his horrified eyes. 

“Don‘t look, Clint,” Natasha whispered into Clint’s ear, as he whimpered. Natasha rolled them over until Clint was facing the other way. “Don‘t look.”

Too late. The scene was seared into his mind as if permanently pressed in with a glowing brand. 

He saw it against the dark red of his eyelids. Phil’s hands were half-curled at his bare sides. Someone had completely taken off Phil’s suit, (he‘s going to be mad about the treatment to his Dolce & Gabbana) until he was naked on the yellow-green grass. There were long cuts made into both upper thighs, highlighted with red fluid, exposing a dark fiber-like material, more metal bones and thin silver cables which were cut apart and their ends dangled against Phil’s lightly tanned skin. Tony had blocked Clint from seeing exactly what he’d been doing to Phil’s chest. Yet at Tony’s side there had lay pieces of technology with odd-looking circuitry. Technology he’d pulled out of _Phil._

“Tasha,” Clint whispered his voice barely audible over the horror in his mind. That was the cut up body of someone he’d lo-- cared for, someone he trusted, kissed, had taken to bed and held close.

“Stark swore to me he wouldn‘t take out anything which would damage Coulson permanently,” Natasha whispered fiercely. “He swore on his life, on _Pepper Potts‘s_ life. Nothing irreplaceable. Nothing irreparable.”

Clint trembled and Natasha held him down, or just held him --he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make the difference-- until the shakes tapered off. Clint clutched her close, burying his face against her neck. He was so relieved she was here and not guarding the perimeter he wasn’t even a little mad that she’d knocked him out.

“How long?” Clint asked hoarsely.

“Nearly two hours,” Natasha said quietly. “I hit you with the lowest dose I had.”

Natasha remained in his arms, far longer than he ever would’ve guessed she could tolerate. He tried to turn back to Phil because he couldn’t resist the urge to look just one more time because he wanted… no, _needed_ to see Phil… even like that, but she grabbed him by the back of his head and refused to let him move, until his struggles died down. He stopped trying to look after a couple more attempts because he didn’t actually _want_ to gain more details for his nightmares.

They were going to be bad enough.

After a couple more minutes ticked by, Clint asked softly, “Did you know… about Phil?” This was Natasha and she would know. How could she not know? She had more secrets in her head than entire intelligence agencies. He found hard to believe that she’d been as clueless as him.

“No,” she answered, her voice clipped. Her back muscles tensed under his palms. “I didn‘t know.” She was angry. He probably would be feeling just as mad, for not knowing, for not figuring out, for being tricked by Phil, Fury and everyone else who’d known, if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted that all he could muster was worry _for_ Phil. 

Again that image of Tony fucking Stark hovering over Phil’s body as he held a knife scorched furiously across his mind’s eye. Clint shuddered at the searing afterimage. He swallowed and asked the question which had been threatening to tear him apart since it sprung to mind. “You think…you think he‘s the original?” Tony’s multiple jokes about Life Model Decoys ran through Clint’s head. They would never be funny again.

“I think he is,” Natasha said quietly. She pulled back enough so he could see the truth of her belief in her eyes because Natasha didn‘t believe blindly. “Stark said it himself, he‘s got 30 year old technology inside of him. If he was made recently, why not anything newer? The only answer there is, is that he‘s had to have been made decades ago.”

It was reassuring to know he wasn’t who’d thought about it, and that he wasn’t crazy for clinging to the idea that Phil wasn’t some replacement for a real flesh and blood Phil Coulson. Phil was the real deal all along. Clint tightened his arms around Natasha in mute gratitude. The niggling possibility of a human Phil being dead, buried and rotting without them ever knowing… it was relief to know Natasha didn’t believe in it. Nat didn’t hold onto hope (Hope is a poison), she dealt in facts. She would never lie to him about this, about Phil, not when she knew exactly how he felt about him.

Bruce shouted unexpectedly, startling Clint and Natasha. Bruce’s voice was loud with a Hulk growl deepening his voice. “Tony! What the hell arrrre you DOOOINNG?!” 

Natasha’s green eyes went wide with alarm.

“Oh, shit!” Stark yelled. “Whoa, big guy this isn‘t what it looks like, I swear! Steve!”

Natasha scrambled out of Clint’s arms, pausing only to say, “Keep your eyes closed, Clint.” She ran over to calm Bruce down before the Hulk made an unanticipated appearance.

Clint was never one to obey orders blindly, but he liked to think even he had enough brains in his head to follow good advice, especially Nat’s. He kept his back to the group. Natasha, proving again why Clint would always and forever love her even if he wasn’t in love with her, had left his bow and quiver behind. He only moved enough to grab them before sitting up to stay alert for any oncoming threats. He really could use something to shoot right now. It would make him feel a lot better and maybe even it would help straighten out the emotional mess in his head.

He always felt calm when shooting and without it… well, currently he felt like he’d been emotionally pureed. Behind his exhaustion, it felt as if all his emotions were too mixed up for him to even begin to sort them out. And he’d never been the kind of guy who’d been too in touch with his emotions in the first place. Look at how long he’d gone with his crush on Phil before he admitted to himself that he wanted more…so much more than he deserved.

Everything was too fucked up.

He should’ve seen this coming. What was the point of having the best pair of eyes in the world if he couldn’t see what was under his nose?

What really got to Clint, in hindsight, was that he’d had heard the rumors about Phil being a robot. He’d been hearing them for _years._ It was practically the first thing he overhead at SHIELD headquarters when he‘d first joined the agency. He also learned it was impossible not hear every ridiculous piece of gossip about Phil considering he was the topic of choice among both senior and junior agents as well as SHIELD civilian contractors, only beaten out by Director Nick Fury and Deputy Director Dugan, who later had his place in the rumor mill quickly taken by Maria Hill when he‘d retired. 

Before Clint had ever met him, he’d heard all the rumors about Phil. He even liked passing them on to the wide-eyed probationary agents because they were so wild and varied. Such as, Agent Coulson was grown from a vat in SHIELD’s R&D department by a mad scientist. Agent Coulson was a mutant. Agent Coulson had killed enemy agents with a spork, a shoelace, a box of tissues and, even once with five apricots (Clint had always liked the apricot rumor simply because when he’d first heard it from three junior agents in HQ’s cafeteria had been arguing over whether Coulson had used the pulp or the stones or the fruits intact. None had seemed to be skeptical about the story being true, at all). Agent Coulson was a space alien. Agent Coulson was secretly a god, the god of field agents. 

The popular ‘Agent Coulson was a robot’ had always been especially funny to Clint but when he got to know Phil, with his warmth and wicked sense of humor, that hearing it really made Clint laugh his ass off.

It would _never_ be funny again.

When he’d been just a couple months into his SHIELD contract, those rumors had left him with a lingering desire to actually meet the infamous Agent Coulson because in his mind he’d been building the mental image of a black leather clad badass with lasers for eyes, shoulder-mounted machine guns and muscles like a Mr. Universe bodybuilder. Yeah, it was an absurd image, but so were most of the rumors circling SHIELD which turned Coulson into a mix of Rambo and James Bond. 

Of course, when Clint finally got to meet him, he learned _those_ rumors had been true.  
*-*-*-*

“That‘s it,” Clint mumbled to himself. “No more missions. I quit.” He raised his head, ignoring the painful pull of his shoulder muscles as he dangled from chains with his toes barely touching the cement floor. He fought past the lingering headache from his last interrogation to shout towards the steel door. “Do you hear that you fucking traitor! I quit SHIELD, O‘Brien! So next time I see you, I‘ll kill you! Because nothing will be holding me back, you asshole!”

Clint snorted in disgust and slumped back down against his chain. As the high-tech manacles cut into his wrists he wished --not for the first time-- that he’d gotten to shoot O’Brien when he realized the man had sold him out to the enemy, but it’d been too late by the time he put the pieces together. Clint had been captured, bound up and taken to wherever the hell he was at the moment without even getting the chance to call the SHIELD emergency situation line. Clint mentally kicked himself for not figuring it out. He’d actually had thought O’Brien was an okay guy and not a total bastard. O’Brien hadn’t seemed to care when Clint talked, actually encouraging him to share his thoughts for the weeks they’ve been partnered up.

“Fucking bastard!” Clint yelled hatefully, struggling against his restraints. He gave up several minutes later, feeling blood drip down his bare sides from where he’d reopened his wounds. He sighed, softly despairing, “Me and my big mouth.”

He should’ve known O’Brien was up to something when he’d gotten excited when he learned Clint had been recruited into HYDRA by Deputy Director Dugan. Clint had thought…hell, he doesn’t know what he’d thought. He’ll never make the assumption that someone who asked so many questions about his life did so because they wanted to be friends. Never again. No one gave a damn about him. No one ever would. He should’ve remembered that. If, by some very lucky chance, he got out of this in one piece he would never forget it again. He was just a mercenary, a paid killer. Not even having been given a shiny new title and getting paid by a legit international agency changed that about it him.

The one thing that anyone cared about was that he was a weapon.

“Never should have trusted the old man, either,” Clint said, laughing bitterly at the knowledge that he‘d gotten himself into this because he trusted too much, and always, always the _wrong_ people. “Nothing but lies… SHIELD is never going to be home, not matter what Dugan said. You lost that too long ago to ever get back, moron. Too trusting, too stupid and now you‘re going to die here. Alone.”

Because he was being held captive by a splinter group of HYDRA, who were crazy, fanatical nut jobs made even more dangerous by the fact that most of their leaders were damned smart. HYDRA, who was known to kill more SHIELD agents every year than most other terrorist groups combined. It needled Clint’s pride that even though he’d been brought in by a bastard weasel of traitor this HYDRA cell who’d held him captive wasn’t even among the biggest and baddest. No, it was some second tier group led by a crazy green-haired woman calling herself by the very imaginative name of Madame Hydra. 

Madame Hydra. 

“Sounds like a name of a woman running a myth themed whorehouse,” Clint muttered to himself.

“I always thought so,” said a low masculine voice from the other side of the door. 

Clint‘s heard jerked up, hissing in pain. He narrowed his eyes as the door to his cell opened and a man wearing HYDRA’s black and dark green full body uniform walked in. Again Clint struggled against the high-tech manacles holding him in place and fervently wished he’d been able to pick the lock. Madame Hydra had a taste for heavy restraints. Clint didn’t care to speculate why, he just wanted out. If he hadn’t been tied up this would’ve been the perfect time to escape, but the stupid manacles needed a thumbprint from Madame Hydra to unlock.

“Hello, Specialist Barton,” said the HYDRA soldier, calmly.

Clint bared his teeth at him. “Whatever the hell you want, you‘re not getting it from me!”

“I‘m here to rescue you.” 

“Like I believe you,” he snarled. “Agents of HYDRA are all snakes.”

The man tilted his head as he eyed him, before he pulled back the helmet/facemask combo HYDRA liked its goons to wear because they were blind to operational security. “And some agents of HYDRA are really eagles,” he said quietly.

Clint was taken aback by the open sincerity in the man’s blue eyes and their penetrating power. He looked at Clint as if they saw straight through all his bullshit. He looked at Clint as if he _knew_ him. Startled, Clint flinched before he shook off his reaction. He said flatly, “I don‘t believe you.” What were the chances of finding a double agent among HYDRA after being double crossed by a SHIELD agent? His luck was _never_ that good.

The possible double agent’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “If you like, I could leave you here but SHIELD with the cooperation of Britain‘s Security Service is going to launch a raid of the estate in twenty minutes.” His amusement flattened out. “I don’t think you want to be here when that happens. HYDRA has a nasty habit of killing their prisoners.”

Clint glared hotly. “I can take care of myself!”

The man raised his eyebrow in silent skepticism but reached into his uniform --Clint tensed-- and pulled out a sleek black device about the size of a cellphone. “I can cut through the chain with this. The manacles will have to wait until a bomb technician can clear them of explosives.”

Clint inhaled sharply. _Jesus, I hadn’t even thought of that._ It would be just like a terrorist group like HYDRA to rig their prisoners to explode.

“You‘re lucky I decided to infiltrate, the SHIELD agent in charge of the British office had been adamant there weren’t any prisoners,” the man said, as he walked closer to Clint. “I wanted to be sure.”

Clint tried to kick out, but the man dodged him with embarrassing ease. “I don‘t trust you anywhere near me with that.” His shoulders screamed at him, and fresh blood leaked from the cuts on his chest.

“A problem we’ll solve later. The clock‘s ticking.” The man stepped closer, raising the black device over his head. “Trust me.” He stared into Clint’s eyes. “You only have to trust me once.”

“Once it all it takes,” Clint spat acidly, but the man remained calm as he waited out Clint's anger. And… what choice did he have, really? If the man wasn’t lying about the raid then Clint wouldn’t have much living left to him if he didn’t get out of here. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good.”

Clint tensed, waiting for the attack but it never came. The other man kept his entire body still as he watched the device cut through the steel chains. It took a long minute, during which Clint was painfully aware of how vulnerable he was with the possible --although it was getting more likely by the minute-- double agent right inside his personal space. It didn’t help that his unease that his bleeding wounds were exposed to the air. It would be far too easy for the man to hurt him.

“Get ready to drop,” the man said, his eyes catching Clint’s. 

Clint barely had the chance to nod when he dropped to the cement floor. He groaned softly as his shoulders screamed in pain again as his arms finally got moved into a different position for the first time in days. Fire raced up his chest as the cuts across his chest bled more than before. The relief of being free was so intense he had to close his eyes to savor it. He snapped his eyes open a split second later at the feel of movement in front of him.

The possibly a good guy --Clint still wasn’t trusting his instincts after O’Brien-- was holding out a Glock for him, butt first. “I’ve read your file, Specialist Barton. I bet you can still out shoot me even with those manacles on.”

“You bet your ass I can,” Clint said at once, grabbing the gun with his left hand, he shifted his grip until it felt steady. He flicked off the safety, grinning in satisfaction. The Glock was loaded with a full magazine; he could feel it in the weight. Now, it didn’t matter if the other guy was lying or not. If he was planning on killing Clint, he’d get a bullet between the eyes before he ever finished reaching for a weapon. Even if the clip was full of blanks, a direct hit would _hurt_ and Clint could always turn the gun into a bludgeon. 

“Exactly _who_ the hell are you?” Clint asked, bemused the man had given him a gun before introducing himself.

“My name is Phil Coulson. You can call me Agent Coulson.” Coulson was too busy looking out the door for HYDRA agents to see Clint’s wide bug-eyed look or how he gaped at him like a completely idiot. “Follow me… unless you‘d rather remain here.”

“I think I can do that,” Clint said slowly, finally shutting his mouth. _This is Agent Coulson?_ He couldn’t believe it. Where was the badass clad in leather with laser eyes and shoulder-mounted machine guns? Why didn’t any of the rumors ever mention the man looked like an accountant or an English teacher? 

_The rumors are lies,_ Clint decided, more disappointed than he‘d expected to feel.

“Let‘s go, Barton,” Coulson said calmly. “We have fifteen minutes left.”

They moved swiftly but quietly through the HYDRA base. Clint didn’t object at having to follow Coulson. He hadn’t gotten any look at the place since he’d woken up stuck in his cell, even when Madame Hydra stopped by a couple of times to lead his interrogations and he’d never been taken out. Considering how stark and utilitarian the cell had been, Clint was pretty surprised to learn he’d been held in the basement of a huge mansion with antique furniture and expensive looking paintings lining the halls. The entire place looked bigger than some SHIELD bases too.

“Madame Hydra must really be making bank by pimping out her minions,” Clint said to himself, so quietly in fact he was surprised Coulson heard him succinctly enough to reply.

“I doubt it, considering the pool of _talent_ at her disposal,” Coulson said. Clint was so caught off-guard by the somber toned response that he nearly laughed aloud. Coulson turned to shoot him with a small amused smile. “If you‘re done making observations about Madame Hydra‘s business practices…”

“Yeah, I‘m good,” Clint strangled out.

Which is, of course, when six HYDRA soldiers stumbled across them and started shouting. 

“That’s the SHIELD prisoner!” 

“What‘s he doing free?”

Clint took care of three of the soldiers in a second and had shifted his aim to take care of the rest when he realized Coulson had already taken them down… by hand.

He’d taken out three enemy soldiers about as fast as _Clint_ could shoot them down. Clint was also one of the fastest draws in the world in addition to being its best marksman. 

Holy shit. 

_Okay, I’m impressed._ He made a mental note to never ever get into a hand-to-hand fight with Agent Coulson. None of those rumors ever said anything about him being a ninja!

Alarms startled blaring away just as Clint heard loud shouts and gunfire coming from their far right. 

“I thought you said we had fifteen minutes left,” Clint said, raising his eyebrows at Coulson.

“Twelve minutes, now,” Coulson said, his eyes narrowed. “Either HYDRA‘s been tipped off or _someone_ just got themselves reassigned indefinitely to the Greenland base.”

“Let‘s not wait to find out,” Clint said, feeling entirely too exposed. He wanted cover between them and HYDRA or a high enough post where he could take shots without worrying about watching his back.

“Agreed.”

They moved faster, shedding subtlety for speed. They ran into another group of HYDRA soldiers, who hadn‘t posted anyone to guard their rear. They took them down even faster than the last batch but less than a minute later they were nearly run down by thirty HYDRA goons, carrying heavy-duty weapons. They were only saved because Coulson had shoved Clint through an open door, closing it behind them just in time. They waited in silence as the men ran past them. One of the HYDRA soldiers shouted about SHIELD and getting the bombs ready for them. 

“He said bombs,” Clint whispered into Coulson’s ear.

“I heard,” Coulson muttered back. He looked around the dinning room and the bay windows before looking back at Clint. “Get yourself out. SHIELD‘s op-control is two hundred meters north, someone there‘ll be able to safely remove the manacles.”

Clint frowned. “While you do what?”

“Stop the bombs.”

“On your own?” Clint asked incredulously. Okay, even if he believed the rumors that was still crazy. “No way in hell am I letting you do that alone. You don‘t know how many they have or where or even how much time is left before they go off!”

“Specialist Barton, that wasn‘t a suggestion. It was an order,” Coulson said coolly.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “If you‘ve really read my file than you know how I react to stupid orders.” He grinned suddenly. “Anyway, I don‘t know how long you were outside that door listening to me… I‘ve quit SHIELD. So you can‘t give me orders.”

“Technically, you have to file your letter of resignation with your direct superior,” Coulson said. 

“O‘Brien was my official handler last time I checked and I shouted it loud and clear.”

“Former Agent Donald O‘Brien has been taken off the roster of active duty agents and is no considered your handler as of thirty-five hours and twelve minutes ago, Specialist Barton,” Coulson replied, his amusement obvious although he kept his face stoically still. “So I‘m afraid he‘d not qualified to take your resignation.”

“Look… whatever the hell you say isn‘t going to change my mind,” Clint said firmly. “I‘m here. Like you said, even with these stupid manacles--”, he lifted up his bound wrists, keeping the gun barrel pointed away from Coulson, “--I’m still a better shot than you.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I‘m a weapon. Use me.”

Coulson studied him for a long moment before he reached back into the HYDRA uniform and pulled out a wireless earpiece which he tucked into his left ear. He tapped it with his forefinger and said, “Agent Sitwell.”

Clint heard a tinny male voice shout, “Agent Coulson! Thank god, you‘re alright! I couldn‘t stop--” 

“Agent Sitwell,” Coulson said firmly, cutting off the other agent on the com-line. “HYDRA has bombs in place. Pull everyone back. I‘ve found Barton alive. I‘m coming in.”

“Yes, sir!”

Clint furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Let‘s go, Barton,” Coulson said, as he opened the door and Clint followed him, sticking to the agent’s side. 

“I thought we were taking out the bombs.” Clint stated softly.

“You’re right, it’s too much of a risk, if we missed one there would be casualties among SHIELD and the British agents,” Coulson said. “It‘s more prudent to pull back than to risk lives.”

Clint frowned, trying to hide his bewilderment. Just a moment ago the man had been ready to go all gung-ho on HYDRA and now… Clint was thoroughly confused but also pleased. It was pretty rare for him to run into a senior agent who listened to his advice and realized he or she were being an idiot _before_ whatever the hell they were going to do blew up in their faces. 

They managed to get out of the mansion in one piece, Coulson coordinated with the agent on the other end of the com-line to secure an exit. Just in time too, because less than three minutes after they got out of the mansion, the part of the roof slid away and two small jets rose vertically out of the base before shooting off, leaving only a vapor trail to show where they‘d gone. Less than a minute later the entire building went up like someone had dropped a live grenade in a fireworks factory. 

Coulson had made the right call because there wouldn't have been any possible way for them to have found the bombs in time.

“That was close,” Clint observed. They watched flames burn through the debris left over after the blast, as SHIELD and British Security Service agents got the fires under control. 

Coulson ignored the entire frantic operation, as he gestured at a blond young man, in full black combat gear and a SHIELD patch at his shoulder. “Agent Quartermain, call a bomb tech. The manacles need to be inspected for surprises. And Specialist Barton needs a medic.”

“Painkillers would be great,” Clint admitted.

“Yes, sir!” Agent Quartermain said at once, before he turned to Clint. “If you would follow me, Specialist Barton?” he said, gesturing toward the direction of the op-control. 

Before Clint followed, Coulson caught him by the elbow, avoiding Clint’s wounds. “Something I want you to consider, before you decide whether or not to follow through on your resignation from SHIELD, you‘re not a weapon, Specialist Barton. A weapon can be replaced.”

Before Clint could point out that‘s exactly what he meant the man continued, his eyes studying him with the same intensity he‘d first seen in the HYDRA cell. Coulson smiled slightly. “And Deputy Director Dugan would be very upset if you quit on him before your first year. He‘s made a bet with Director Fury you‘d make it all the way to agent.” 

Clint stared back at him, dumbfounded. “He wants me to be an agent?” He’d thought Dugan had only recruited him for his marksmanship, using their similar past of being in a circus to get him to agree to lend his skills to SHIELD. Being an agent of SHIELD was a lot different than being a civilian contractor. It meant Dugan wanted to keep him for more than his ability to shoot. It meant Dugan trusted him…even with his shady past.

Coulson’s smile widened, a surprisingly bright thing which crinkled the corners of his eyes, before he all but got Quartermain to drag Clint’s ass over to op-control.

It was the last chance Clint got to talk to Coulson for a long while because the op devolved into a petty infighting over who’d lead the investigation of the mansion ruins, SHIELD or MI5 which only settled down before it could become full out fist fight when Coulson took over from the SHIELD agent who’d initially been in charge. Coulson then spent the next several hours giving orders while Clint was whisked away to receive medical treatment and to get freed of the manacles.

He’d later admit, even if just to himself, it had been Coulson who’d tipped the balance in his decision to give SHIELD another shot before he called it quits. Mostly because he liked the thought of an agent like Coulson appreciating him --even if just a little-- for more than his ability to shoot but also because he wanted to stick around to add a new rumor to the SHIELD rumor mill. 

Clint wanted to see the reactions of the agents as when they heard him tell them: Agent Coulson was a ninja.  
*-*-*-*

After their first meeting, Clint hadn’t seen Phil again for nearly a year. He hadn’t cared too much either, after all they‘d both been doing their jobs. But then they ended up in several back-to-back missions together where Clint learned that being the best handler he’d ever had was also among Phil’s various talents. Pretty much Clint never stood a chance against his awesome and he’d requested Phil as his handler whenever possible (he begged Dugan until the old man caved just to get him out of his office).

Then Clint went and started giving a damn about Phil as something more than just another SHIELD agent. He started thinking him a friend.

Maybe that had been the problem. If Clint’s feelings had never grown deeper, if he’d just kept his mouth shut and never asked him out, would Phil be cut up into pieces now? Everyone Clint had ever cared for died or betrayed him. _Maybe this is the universe’s attempt at getting me to catch a clue._

That thought hurt more than he expected and Clint hunched in his shoulders, listening to the chaos behind him.

Between Steve and Natasha, they’d managed to get Bruce calmed down before the Hulk came out and smashed Tony. _Well, he probably wouldn’t have smashed him,_ Clint thought regretfully. The Hulk really liked Tony. SHIELD analysts had thought it had to be bleed over from how much Bruce liked the guy too. 

Right now, Clint was of the opinion, that they both had _terrible_ tastes. 

Intellectually, he knew it was irrational to be so angry at Tony. After all, Clint wasn’t anywhere near as angry at Natasha or Steve, and… it wasn’t like he could be mad at Phil either. When he thought of Phil, all Clint felt was his chest tightening and the overwhelming fear that Phil wouldn’t wake up again. After all this was over if--when he got Phil back, Clint was going to yell at him for his stupid martyr tendencies until his voice gave out.

Then he’ll sic Natasha on him. But right now, all he wanted was to see him wake up again. He was dreading the thought that even this request was too much to ask of the world which had it out for him.

_Please, just once. Just this once. Give him back._

After several minutes of muted conversation behind him, Clint heard Bruce’s tread approaching him. It had to be Bruce because Natasha and Steve were usually too quiet to hear and Tony would’ve been three times louder than Bruce.

“Mind if I join you?” Bruce asked softly. 

“It‘s free grass,” Clint answered, not bothering to look up.

“So it is,” Bruce agreed as he sat down heavily next to Clint. 

After over five minutes of silence, Clint glanced over at him. Bruce looked surprisingly pale and his eyes held a faint tint of green. “I thought you‘d be over with Tony.”

Bruce shook his head. “Not a good idea, right now,” he said gently. His eyes became greener for a second before slowly shifting back to normal. “Anyway, Tony doesn‘t need help with the signal booster. He‘s almost done.” Bruce touched the spot on his face where a dark ugly bruise had been mere hours ago; it was faded to a green-yellow splotch. “Seeing Phil like that is just asking for the other guy to make an appearance. You see, he’s a friend,” Bruce explained. 

Clint was only a little surprised but questioningly raised his eyebrows anyway. He’d known Phil was spending time with the team. Bonding time, he’d called it. Clint hadn’t known Bruce felt anything back.

“Soon after we regrouped to become the Avengers again, Phil came up to my floor to talk. He said that he understood why I was having a hard time trusting him, since I don‘t trust SHIELD. He asked if being friends would help. So we became friends.”

“Just like that,” Clint asked, envious that Bruce’s relationship with Phil had been so easy.

Bruce huffed with soft laughter. “No. Are you kidding me? I thought it was a trick. I kicked him out.”

Clint involuntarily smiled for a second at the mental image of the least physically imposing --when he wasn‘t the Hulk-- of the Avengers kicking Phil Coulson out of his room before his smile faded away. “What’d he do to change your mind?” 

Bruce clasped his knees with his hands as he somberly looked off into the tree line, eying the distant lingering smoke from their crash site. “He set up a secure line of communication so I could speak to _Betty_.” Bruce sighed the woman’s name as if it was a marvel of science he’d discovered, with wonder and delight in equal measure. “At that point, it’d been nearly two years since the last time I got to talk to her. Two long, miserable years where I couldn‘t get around the Army‘s surveillance and that security firm the General hired to follow Betty everywhere. But,” Bruce’s voice became softly awed, “he found a way.” He reached out and gently gripped Clint’s right shoulder. “Phil went out of his way to do that for me, just so we could be friends. Whatever else he is, he‘s a _good_ man. You‘re lucky to have him.”

Clint ducked his head, “I know.“ He’d believed it was true even before these last few months together and he still believed it even knowing Phil wasn’t exactly… human. Clint was more grateful than he could say that so far none of his teammates thought it was strange that he cared so much for Phil.

“And Tony‘s a good guy too, Clint,” Bruce said after nearly a minute of comfortable silence between them.

Clint grimaced. Tony wasn’t anywhere near his favorite person right now. His favorite person was on the grass, having been cut up for parts. Clint blinked hard and dropped his head, inspecting the bow in his hands for any damage, even knowing he hadn‘t found any the last five times he‘d checked since waking up.

“Tony and I will do everything we can to get Phil up and running again,” Bruce said firmly. “I promise you, you‘ll get him back.”

 _Don‘t make promises you can‘t keep, Doc._ But Clint kept his reply to a nod.

Bruce looked over his shoulder. He turned back and nodded at Clint. “You can turn to look now.”

Clint swallowed and slowly got to his feet. Dreading what he’d see, he slowly turned and to his staggering relief he saw that someone had redressed Phil so that none of the cuts to his skin were visible. Phil’s eyes were closed and his arms were resting on his stomach as if he was taking a nap. Natasha stood next to him. She looked towards Clint and nodded at him, giving the ‘all clear’ signal.

Clint stumbled forward on weakened legs. He nearly fell but Bruce caught him, holding him up for a second until Clint broke free. He crashed to a stop on his knees next to Phil, looking over him desperately.

“Is he--”

“He‘s fine,” Natasha said at once. “JARVIS verified it. He‘s deep in sleep-mode.”

Clint clutched Phil’s right hand, holding it so tightly he suspected he would’ve broken bones if they hadn’t been made of metal. He closed his eyes and pressed his face to Phil’s neck, wanting to shake. 

Phil was _warm._

“You‘re a stupid fucking bastard, Phil,” Clint whispered. “You better wake up again or--.” He couldn’t finish the sentence because if Phil didn’t wake up, no matter what kind of threat Clint made against him, it would be _Clint’s_ life which would be hell.

Clint settled against Phil’s side, breathing in Phil’s mild cologne. Even knowing that they weren’t anywhere close to being out of hot water, he relaxed. Slowly. He may not have any real idea of how much damage Tony had inflicted in using Phil for parts but compared to the first thing he’d seen -- _Phil flat on his back with Tony’s hand buried wrist deep_ \-- Clint shuddered. 

Yes, this was _better_ , so much better. 

Natasha stood guard over them both as Clint slowly put himself together. He sat up again and nodded his thanks to Natasha for having his back before returning to studying Phil. He found himself wishing he had any knowledge of robotics. All he knew came from movies, and some of those were fucking creepy.

“Eureka!” Tony yelled in triumph. Clint tore his eyes away from Phil‘s face to look up. Tony was facing away, his eyes intent on the completed signal booster. Steve was hovering at his shoulder. “Avengers, we have a signal!” Tony said excitedly. “JARVIS, put me through to SHIELD. It’s time to call Daddy Fury for a lift home!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this chapter ran to extra long. 
> 
> Okay, quickly adding an explanation for my headcanon in this universe here. Dugan's wiki page --yeah I know-- said he was a strong man in the circus before joining the war. So... I found it impossible to resist using this thread of commonality to draw Clint and Dugan together, same way that Dugan then used it to convince Clint he'd have a home in SHIELD because no one there would give a damn about him picking up his skills in the circus, as opposed to coming from the military. Pretty much I just wanted a different background for why Clint joined SHIELD without having met Coulson and I got tackled by the idea.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where in the _hell_ did you say you were?!” Fury yelled through the Iron Man helmet’s speakers. 

“Antarctica, generally,” Tony said, gesturing all around them with broad sweeping gestures even though Fury couldn’t see them. The HUD’s internal cameras were as thoroughly shot as the rest of the Iron Man armor. “Specifically? Somewhere with dinosaurs _and_ volcanoes. Which was a… surprise, you know… I always pictured tons of ice, snow, and penguins when it came to the seventh continent. Wikipedia lied to me.”

“Dinosaurs…” Fury repeated in a tone heavy with disbelief. Clint could easily picture Fury’s pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It was a gesture that cropped up a lot among SHIELD’s upper tier officers whenever they had to deal with Tony Stark. There were many reasons Phil was the one tasked as Agent in Charge of the Avenger Initiative, so Fury wouldn’t have to do it was merely one of them. 

“Where is Coulson? Put him on!” Fury demanded. 

Tony froze in mid-gesture before he abruptly dropped his hands and glanced back towards where Clint sat next to Phil. Guilt swept across Tony’s face for a brief moment before it was quickly hidden under a speculative expression. Tony didn’t meet Clint’s eyes and he quickly turned his attention back to the helmet. Clint had to unclench his hands before his nails drew blood from his palms. He glowered at Tony’s back until Natasha’s soft huff of irritation made him turn towards her. Her ‘You’re Being an Idiot’ expression was practically stamped with a trademark. Clint grimaced in response, took a deep breath and tried to shake off the lingering anger.

It didn’t really work; it simmered low and constant in Clint‘s gut.

“Exactly how secure is this transmission?” Steve broke in. He crouched next to Tony, facing the Iron Man helmet.

“It‘s a SHIELD satellite channel, Captain Rogers,” Hill’s voice answered back. “It‘s secure.”

“You have me on speaker phone? Without telling me? You know, I really hate that,” Tony said irritated, as he ran his fingers through his hair from front to back, leaving a messy nest in his wake. “We‘re not broadcasting over the bridge of the Enterprise, are we? Not exactly the best way to keep secrets, Nick.”

“Wait a minute,” Fury said dryly.

“I didn‘t know SHIELD finally picked a name for the helicarrier,” Steve said with interest.

“We haven‘t,” Natasha said, amused at Steve’s bewildered expression. 

“You‘re so precious,” Tony said fondly, patting Steve on the back. “Don‘t worry, old man. Star Trek is joining the your viewing queue.”

“Thanks… I think,” Steve replied. The team waited in silence and soon heard a double click through the helmet speakers.

“It‘s just me and Hill now. Would someone tell me what the _hell_ is going on?” Fury demanded. Maybe it was because Clint had known the Director for several years, but he swore he heard a thrum of worry below his commanding and irritated tone. Then and there, Clint knew he couldn’t let anyone else tell him about Phil, especially considering the history between the two men. Director Fury’s appreciation of Phil Coulson on a professional level had always been well-known in SHIELD‘s inner circles, and since the Chitauri/Loki attack and Phil’s subsequent return --from what everyone had thought was death-- that appreciation had become legendary. 

Clint always suspected that there was more to that story than just a professional relationship. It made him think that he had to be the one to break the news to Fury. Phil was his handler, his friend, his lover… it was his responsibility.

“Phil’s down, sir,” Clint answered, projecting his voice so he would be heard. 

“Exactly what do you mean by that, Agent Barton,” Fury asked swiftly and coldly. 

“We know, alright!” Tony snapped, his back stiffening. “We were stuck without a way to call you. Coulson offered… he offered I use…I got the parts I needed from _him._ ”

“What are you talking about, Stark?” Hill’s asked, her voice heavy with confusion.

Clint and Natasha exchanged looks of mutual surprise at Maria Hill, Deputy Director to the whole of SHIELD, clear lack of knowledge about Phil. Weirdly, it made Clint feel better. If Fury hadn’t even trusted his second in command with that knowledge then someone like him, who was so many levels in rank lower than her, won’t have come close to being informed.

“God damn it, Coulson, what the hell did you do?” Fury’s voice was low, nearly inaudible. Clint had the distinct feeling they weren’t supposed to have heard him.

“Director Fury,” Steve said, leaning closer to the Iron Man helmet. “Agent Coulson chose to inform us about his status as an android.”

Hill’s shocked noise of surprise went abruptly quiet as if she‘d muffled herself. “Director Fury?” she asked incredulously.

“You‘ll be fully debriefed later, Hill. I don‘t have the time to answer your questions right now,” Fury said, his voice coming through surprisingly tired. “Now, tell me exactly what the hell happened and what he said, Stark.”

Tony frowned but he gave Fury all the details without being an asshole about it.

“Involuntary standby. Fuck.”

Everyone straightened. On instinct, Clint tightened his grip on his bow.

“Sir, what does that mean?” Steve asked even as he shot Clint a concerned look. His blue eyes were so sympathetic that Clint couldn’t stand it and he looked away. He could handle cruelty better than he ever could deal with kindness, after all he’d had plenty of experience with the former and not so much with the latter. He‘d developed defenses since he‘d been a kid. The kindness and care had always gotten around his mental armor, and the ease in which Steve dolled them out made Clint feel weak during a time when he felt he should be his strongest.

The only people whose gestures of concern made him feel stronger were Phil, and Natasha.

“It means that Coulson‘s batteries are at such low levels that his body has shut down all but the most essential systems,” Fury answered. 

“Yeah, I figured that,” Tony said cuttingly. “The name kind of gave it away.”

“How long has he been out?”

“Three hours and twenty-seven minutes,” Natasha answered promptly.

“Shit… Stark, you need to find a way to get power to him,” Fury ordered.

Tony frowned. “Why?”

“Howard Stark never turned him off after he first switched Coulson on,” Fury said grimly. “He was always worried about what it would do to Coulson‘s brain. If his power levels reach zero then we may not be able to get him back. And I don‘t mean his memories and databanks, those can survive without power. They‘re solid-state drives and he‘s got back-ups in case of drive failure. What could be lost is what really makes Coulson…Coulson. He‘d lose everything he‘s gained over the years since he‘s been activated.”

Clint flinched and he stared down at Phil‘s face. _I can still lose him,_ Clint thought. Panic clawed at his insides. He shuddered and tightened his right hand around Phil’s wrist.

“You‘re saying he‘ll reset back to factory settings,” Bruce said slowly, going pale. “He‘ll forget himself… that‘s...” Bruce shook his head, clearly spooked by the idea.

Steve looked equally stricken. Tony’s head was bowed low.

Clint huffed a silent miserable laugh; he wasn‘t surprised at this news. Their luck today had been so epically bad it was setting a new standard in fucking awful. Natasha touched his shoulder with a firm grip. He looked up her as she squeezed it. The line of her mouth was hard and flat but her eyes…her eyes looked at him with fierce protectiveness. She didn’t say anything, after all hope was a poison but that she tried to reassure him at all…it spoke a lot of the depth of what she was feeling. Clint squeezed back, in quiet gratitude of her unwavering support.

“I‘ll rig something,” Tony said, breaking the awful silence. He raised his head and turned to face Clint, actually looking at him in the eye for the first time since he’d walked past Clint to get to Phil’s prone defenseless body. Tony tapped his chest, his fingernail clicking on the arc reactor through his shirt. “I have a built in power generator,” Tony said firmly. His brown eyes burned bright with the intensity of his promise. The rest of his expression was solemn and serious in a way that Clint was only used to seeing on the man when a battle was racking up casualties among the civilians. Tony’s chin went up. “I will find a way to get some into him.”

Clint stared at him for a long moment. His anger towards the other man roiled in his chest like a beast… but regardless of how pissed he was at Tony and how much he still shuddered at the memory of him over Phil‘s body -- _Tony‘s wrist deep into Phil‘s chest_ \-- he’d be more than willing to swallow his anger if Tony followed through. After cutting Phil apart, it was the least he could fucking do to start making up for it.

“I‘ll hold you to that, Stark,” Clint said intently. He loosened his tight hold on Phil’s wrist to something less crushing as Tony nodded crisply. Over Tony’s shoulder, Steve smiled a tiny delighted grin.

“Good,” Fury cut in. “Because from what you‘ve told me Coulson has, at best, about 3.5 hours left. And even with our fastest jet we won‘t make it all the way to Antarctica in time.”

“We’ll get a faster response if we‘re able to coordinate with McMurdo Station. We have a couple of agents on security assignments there,” Hill said coolly.

“JARVIS, send the last coordinates from the Quinjet‘s nav-systems,” Tony said at once. “It’s good you’ll have someone coming by land since with the EMSF, that‘s what I‘ve been calling the energy field around this area which took us down, you can’t send any planes over our last coordinates without them getting fried and crashing too.”

“If we can‘t land where you’re at, you‘ll have to get out,” Fury pointed out. 

Steve flinched, a reaction which gave everyone pause until Steve pointed out. “None us here are dressed to survive the cold extremes. The one who comes closets is Bruce but not as himself.”

“And the other guy is notoriously unreliable,” Bruce sighed in agreement.

“I’m more concerned about Coulson,” Tony continued. “Why? What do you mean?” Clint asked, with narrowed eyes. 

“The field is still in place, going through it once nearly drained Coulson‘s batteries dry, and it shut down most of Iron Man,” Tony reminded them.

“And your arc reactor,” Steve said, looking at Tony in concern. He looked back at the Iron Man helmet. “It would be a good idea to bring another core.”

Tony grimaced and waved that fact away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “What I’m trying to point out, is that we need a way to get Coulson past the EMSF safely.”

“We need a Faraday cage,” Bruce said thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” Tony exclaimed pointing a finger-gun at Bruce. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“It‘s been a few days,” Bruce said smiling easily. 

“Well, I do. I love your big, big, big--”

“Stark!” Hill snapped. 

“Brain… I was going to say brain,” Tony protested. “Such a lack of trust.” He shook his head mock-sadly. “I‘m kinda hurt now.”

Clint barely chocked back an abrupt laugh. Tony winked at him.

“It would be a good idea to have a Faraday cage for all of us to use, or to be more specific, Faraday suits,” Bruce continued thoughtfully. “It‘s a common misconception that electromagnetic radiation of the sort produced by an EMP is harmless to humans. A sustained field like the kind that Tony‘s talking about could hurt us too.”

“And it‘s probably what‘s keeping the rest of the world from learning that we‘ve still got dinosaurs around,” Tony agreed.

This was the point where Bruce’s and Tony’s English turned into science gibberish talk, which Clint tuned out. While Steve, Bruce and Tony coordinated a rescue with SHIELD, Clint and Natasha figured out how to move Phil with the least amount of damage. They used some of the equipment Phil had taken off the jet, long branches from nearby trees and created a makeshift stretcher. They strapped Phil into it long before the team was ready to move out. Clint, hearing Phil’s voice in his head reminding him of survival protocol, made sure that everyone ate as Natasha walked the perimeter, before he focused on making new shafts for his bow. 

They were cruder than he’d like, made out of the straightest pieces of wood he‘d been able to find and they lacked arrowheads other than the points he‘d carved, but he focused on quantity not quality. Clint was glad he had extra vanes in his bow case, otherwise they’d be hell to use. He had the feeling that if he needed to go on the offensive then he would need a lot of arrows, even as green as they were. And against any possible threats, he’d rather have arrows he’d could compensate for, than none at all.

Steve crouched at Clint’s side, eyeing the quiver full of 25 shafts. “You‘re going to have to teach me how to do that one day,” he said, impressed. 

Clint looked at him and flicked away a wood curl over his shoulder on the flat of knife. “We’re ready?”

“In five minutes,” Steve said nodding. He looked at Phil, where he was tightly roped into the stretcher.

Clint nodded and finished up the last arrow, adding it to his quiver. “Right.” 

“I‘ll help you carry him,” Bruce offered, standing up from where he’d been sitting next to Tony. Clint thanked him.

Steve raised his fist into the air and at his signal Natasha came out of the trees on silent feet. They distributed the survival packs among them, grabbing only the essentials. Natasha took point with Clint, Phil and Bruce in the middle. Tony followed behind them, one of Natasha’s small guns in his hand and still carrying the Iron Man armor case, while Steve brought up the rear with the shield on hand. 

It took them nearly two precious hours to find the edge of Dino Land. Two hours in which they walked quietly past herds of all sorts of dinosaurs --even ones that Clint thought weren’t suppose to ever know each other since they came from different time periods but he couldn‘t be certain about that-- because the last thing they wanted was to tangle with what where essential big animals. They’d all agreed before heading out, that unless one of the dinosaurs was actively trying to eat them, it would be better to leave them be. 

Anyway, Tony had rightly pointed out that they’d no doubt end up on an endangered species list if the public found out about them.

They had less than an hour and a half before Phil’s batteries ran dry when they found the huge stone wall which marked the boundary of this crazy place.

“That‘s going to be a tough climb,” Steve said, as he looked up. 

“And me without my flight boots,” Tony agreed. 

They all tilted their heads up, staring up a sheer rock wall of nearly fifty feet of granite. The wall was unbroken, as far as they could see it. It wall continued on to the left and to the right as far as Clint could see. From the slight concave curve the wall took, it seemed like Dino Land‘s boundary was one giant round wall which definitely didn’t smack of natural to Clint. He made a mental note of his observation.

“This is the best place to get out, guys,” Tony continued. “It‘s the closest point to McMurdo Station. Our ride‘s going to be pulling up on the other side.”

Natasha turned back to look at Clint. He nodded back.

“I guess I‘m up,” Clint said, slowly lowering the stretcher with Phil down to the ground. He hid a small caress of Phil’s hand with the motion, reassuring himself that Phil was going okay out of his sight for the time it took for Clint to get back to him. “This could take several minutes. You better get started on following through on your promise, Stark.” Before time ran out, Clint didn’t have say aloud.

“Just don‘t get yourself killed. Agent will make all our lives miserable,” Tony said, as he sat by Phil’s side, opening the tool kit. He shrugged out of t-shirt and the arc reactor glowed blue-white with power. 

Natasha handed Clint two slim ropes, each graded for half a ton of weight. Clint slipped out of his boots, because as awesome as SHIELD issued equipment was, they weren’t the best for rock climbing since the were soles were too clunky. He didn’t remove his quiver or bow, though. They were designed not to interfere with his maneuverability and even if they had, he wouldn‘t have wanted to remove them anyway.

Clint rubbed his hands into the gritty dirt at their feet, shook off the excess dirt and looked for the perfect place to start. Slowly, Clint made it up the wall face as he followed a nearly invisible fissure. He got half-way up when he began to feel a vibration under his hands and an uncomfortable prickling feeling all along his skin, even under his clothes. He gritted his teeth and bore it as he climbed and a couple of feet later he ran out of fissure. He took a breath, made himself focus on a rock wall and picked out a series of nearly flat hand holds which got him to less than 5 feet from the top. That’s the point where he pulled out the last smart-arrow he had yet to use, which he‘d been saving in case he slipped. The smart-arrow was built with a rappelling line in the shaft and a collapsible gripping hook in the arrowhead.

He took a long moment to decide the best place to shoot. As soon as he found it, he release the wall and as he fell back, pulled down by gravity, he shot. The arrowhead expanded into a hook and hit the target perfectly, a wedge between to large boulders. Clint came to an abrupt stop. As soon as he stopped turning, Clint climbed line and pulled himself over the lip of the wall. He nearly fell over backward at the mixed sensation of devastating cold hitting his skin and heat prickling at his nerve endings, as well as being hit with blinding white as sunlight bounced off ice and snow.

“Son of a bitch, that‘s cold,” Clint hissed, abruptly wishing his uniform came with sleeves. The cold made him seriously consider asking for attachable sleeves in the next uniform design from R&D. Clint fished out his sunglasses and took careful note of one odd feature. Between the rock wall edge and the ice there was ten feet of clear space, with no snow or ice blocking the granite. It was completely bare and really fucking weird. He suspected that Tony’s EMSF was to blame.

Clint noted his observations before he collected his smart arrow, folding down the arrowhead. He then found a solid rock which shot up to the sharp blue sky like a lost stalagmite. He wrapped the rope around the base, double checked the knots and then he put on his gloves and rappelled down the rock wall in less than five seconds. 

As soon as his feet hit the ground Clint frowned. Tony was unconscious, sprawled on his back with his hair standing on end while Bruce examined him with quick fingers and a worried expression. A bitter smell of heated metal and ---weirdly enough-- coconuts lingered in the air. Steve looked anxious. Natasha was tense as she crouched over Phil, buttoning his shirt before Clint could see what lay beneath. 

As Clint jerked his gaze away before his keen eyesight saw details he didn’t really want seared into his memory, he demanded “What the hell happened?”

Tony groaned and opened his eyes. “Imma okay,” he slurred.

JARVIS answered worriedly, “Sir underestimated the kickback of electrical energy due to siphoning power from the arc reactor and into Agent Coulson‘s batteries.”

Clint looked over at Phil. “Is Phil okay?” he demanded as he rushed to his side. “Tell me that didn‘t hurt him!”

“The only damage I saw was superficial,” Natasha answered.

Clint choked on a strangled noise at the confirmation that there was _some_ damage. Frantic, he looked over Phil and although he didn’t see anything he was too aware of how much of Phil‘s body the suit covered. The memory of the last time Thor had accidentally fried SHIELD’s tech-systems in a portable op-control with a misplaced lightning bolt came sharply to mind. Clint swallowed down a sudden bout of nausea of the memory of burnt plastic melding with the real scent of heated metal.

“Don‘t mind me,” Tony groaned, somewhat more coherent. “I only just completely fried the thing which keeps me alive. No big.”

“What happened, Tony?” Steve asked, as he leaned closer to Tony. His brow were furrowed in concern. “You didn‘t say anything like this could happen.”

“I miscalculated dear ol‘ dad‘s built in defenses,” Tony explained as he tried sitting up. “Woah. Okay, big mistake,” Tony said woozily. He flattened himself back down, his limbs sprawled out like a starfish. “Bruce, I‘m passing the miracle worker baton onto you. I‘m on a smoke break.” Tony huffed a low laugh. “’cause I‘m _smokin‘_.”

“Is he alright?” Steve asked Bruce.

“From what I can tell… yeah, his heartbeat is steady and strong,” Bruce said as he shared relieved glance with Steve. “I think he‘s just a little stunned from the electrical backlash.”

“What about Phil?” Clint demanded. 

“Agent Barton, from my analysis, Agent Coulson’s batteries should be at 34% percent capacity. Which would translate to 49 hours of power for his critical systems,” JARVIS answered.

“And Tony‘s reactor?” Clint asked. He did give a damn about Tony after all; he was just having a terrible day.

“Sir is at 17% percent power,” JARVIS replied.

Steve frowned, “Can he make it through the EMSF like that?”

“Considering the previous power drop it would be a safer option to wait for the arrival of the Faraday suits and the replacement core before traversing the EMSF,” JARVIS said crisply.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I can see your point. I could feel the field, even before I made it to the top. I could barely stand it and I wasn’t even close to crossing it.” Bruce took in this information with a thoughtful expression, raising his head to stare up at the rim of the wall.

Steve got to his feet and gave them a sweeping look which caught their attention, even Tony cracked open one eye to stare up at him. “Let‘s set up a defense perimeter and secure camp until SHIELD gets here.”

The team nodded and got to work.  
*-*-*-*

The two SHIELD agents from McMurdo showed up three hours later. Making it a damned good thing that Tony had managed to partially charge Phil’s batteries, because otherwise… Clint didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened. But he knew this, they would have arrived too late.

The two agents --Johnson and Schultz-- had made it through to them in a SnoCat which looked like an orange delivery truck on with wide triangle treads. They had wisely parked it just beyond the odd snow-bare area so the engine wasn‘t killed by the EMSF. Clint would’ve normally have climbed up to sneak in drive since adding an artic vehicle to the list of transports he‘d driven would‘ve been golden but he preferred to stick with Phil. 

Natasha was the one who climbed the rope to greet them, double wrapped in two silver-foil thermal blankets to minimize any side effects from the EMSF rather than have the agents risk crossing without any protection. The agents had brought them cold wear gear to allow them make it to the SnoCat without anything falling off from the wind chill. It worked well enough that when Natasha returned they’d agreed that Bruce should go up next because someone with science know-how of the EMSF field should be at the McMurdo landing site to greet and explain the situation to Fury. Bruce was the only one to leave with the SHIELD agents since Steve was determined to remain with his downed teammates and no one bothered to try to talk him out of it since Steve could redefine the meaning of stubborn, as the new immovable object, when he felt like digging in his heels. 

No one even dared to ask Natasha if she’d leave Clint behind.

Clint stayed so close to Phil’s side so some part of him was always touching him and burned away time by crafting more and better arrows. As they waited Tony remained disturbingly quiet as he worked on the Iron Man suit. He occasionally looked up to stare at Phil in a way which tripped all of Clint’s protective instincts since Clint could practically see his mental wheels spinning away at super-sonic speeds. But since Tony didn’t do anything other than stare, blink and go glassy-eyed whenever he drifted off in thought, Clint grudgingly refrained from shooting him with his new arrows. 

No one got sleep that night. When the sky darkened for a couple of hours, they’d only managed to snatch a few minutes of sleep at a time. Their diligence proved a benefit when they scared a large herd of dinos which looked like dog sized raptors who’d come around to check them out. Clint used up nearly all his arrows, taking down the sharp-toothed bastards as they tried to take bites out of him. Tony managed to get one repulsor from the Iron Man suit working and blasted several of the raptors which scared the sharp-toothed buggers off.

When Fury showed up a little over 24 hours since they‘d crashed landed, Clint could’ve kissed him.

“Only you people could fly over Antarctica and end up in a tropical jungle,” Fury said dryly, as he stepped off the new rope ladder the SHIELD agents had installed. He was wearing a suit riveted with metal and a what looked like a steam-punk birdcage helmet on his head.

On the top of the rock wall, Clint could see Bruce, Hill, Agent Sitwell and a female agent whom Clint didn’t recognize. They were wearing similar suits, peering down at them before Hill started her descent. Fury looked them over with one eye until he settled his gaze on Phil. He sighed heavily and drew close until he was stand by Clint’s side. After he studied Phil, Fury looked Clint for a long moment before he nodded, as if satisfied with some answer he found on Clint’s face.

“Okay, people,” Fury ordered loudly. “Let‘s get the hell out of here, pronto!”

Hill landed with a soft thud. She walked over to Tony and handed him a small black case which had been clipped to her belt, right next to her gun holster. “One arc reactor core,” Hill said in explanation as she gave it to Tony. Tony gave her a silent nod of thanks. Hill turned on a dime and walked straight to Clint and Phil. She stayed back several feet, eyeing Phil’s face with a cool mask of professionalism. 

Clint saw the way she kept back though, and the tightness of her jaw that only even showed up when she was angry enough to chew nails. Clint noted her reaction before focusing his attention on getting Phil strapped into the metal gurney they’d brought. 

“Aw, that‘s the stuff,” Tony said as he popped in the new arc reactor core into place in his chest and the light in his chest glowed bright and stronger. “So, big guy, what did the readings show?” he called out to Bruce as the man stepped off the rope ladder. 

“We may have a problem,” Bruce said. They all turned to look at him, but he just looked back at Tony. “We underestimated the strength of the EMSF at ground level.”

“Meaning what?” Fury asked. 

“Meaning that the Faraday cage we brought for Phil won‘t provide as much protection as we hoped,” Bruce explained. “I studied those sensors and there‘s a lot of different energies involved in the field, it isn‘t only a magnetic field.”

“We‘re not leaving Phil here,” Clint snapped. 

“Of course not,” Bruce said instantly with wide eyes.

“So we do it fast,” Tony broke in, his brown eyes narrowing in thought. “That field brought down the Quinjet, shutting down lot of systems. And it‘s knocked out Iron Man.” Tony looked down at Phil. “I‘ll need to be up there first. If the field drains his batteries again, he‘s going to need another jolt.

“Is that a good idea?” Steve asked in concern. “The defenses nearly knocked you out last time.”

Tony nodded. “I‘m sure. I‘ll know what I‘ll be facing. Don‘t worry, old man.”

“Then let‘s do it,” Fury ordered.

Fury had also brought a gurney, so Clint helped move Phil from the makeshift stretcher and watched as Sitwell, Bruce and the female agent set up the Faraday cage in less than five minutes. Tony had put on a Faraday suit and climbed up the rope ladder. He’d left behind the Iron Man suitcase for Steve to carry and had attached JARVIS to Phil so that the AI could monitor him, even though he warned them that the helmet would likely to crap out before long. As the gurney went up, Clint kept pace on the rope ladder, the Faraday suit he wore made the climb nearly as hazardous as his initial scaling of the rock wall but he gritted his teeth and didn’t let Phil pull out ahead.

As soon as the gurney slipped over the lip of the wall, JARVIS shouted a garbled warning about dropping levels before fizzing out. Smoke curled up from the helmet as Tony swore and grabbed the gurney, shouting at the rest of the agents to help and they raced towards the fleet of artic vehicles which Fury had brought.

Clint pelted after them, not caring a whit for how the cold cut into him like razor blades of ice. He was right behind them as they climbed into the biggest of the artic vehicles, one that looked like city bus on treads.

“Damn it, damn it,” Tony swore, as he tore off the Faraday suit.“What happened?” Clint asked, anxiously as soon as he got through the door.

“The power‘s dropped to less than one percent.”

“You gotta do something,” Clint demanded. 

“I am!” Tony snapped back. He jerked his shirt over his head, and the arc reactor glowed. He grabbed the Iron Man helmet off of Phil, reached in and snapped way the cords. He looked around had snatched up a tool kit, his eye lighting up. He knelt by Phil’s side and even as his hands worked, pulling out what he needed he looked up to shot Clint a hard look. “Don‘t try to kill me for what you see, okay?”

Before Clint could agree, Tony tore away Phil’s button shirt, popping buttons all over the floor and then he plunged his hands right into Phil’s chest before he spread the skin apart.

Clint’s vision went funny as it darkening around the edges while a roaring sound drowned out everything. He clamped his eyes closed, counted to ten and ruthlessly shoved his reaction into a mental box. This was the last thing Phil needed. He wouldn’t be a useless mess! Not now!

Clint opened his eyes and dropped to his knees opposite of Tony. “What do you need me to do?” he asked hoarsely. 

Tony paused for a split second before he nodded, “Just make sure I‘m still breathing. Afterwards.” Then in swift, economical movements Tony clipped two cords to his arc reactor and pressed their copper exposed ends to something inside of Phil. Instantly, the arc reactor lit up like a super-nova. The bright flare of light made Sitwell and the female agent shout out in surprise. Tony yelled and jerked away falling onto his back, the scent of metal and coconuts filling the air. 

As Clint bent over Tony’s body to double-check that he was actually still breathing, the door opened up and Steve and Fury climbed in followed by Hill. They took in the blinking SHIELD agents, Clint crouched over Tony and Tony’s own unconscious state. 

“Damn it, Tony,” Steve said softly. 

With someone else willing to check Tony over, Clint left him to Steve and returned to Phil’s side just as Fury shot them all a grim look and said, “Let’s get your asses back to New York City before you kill yourselves by accident.”

*-*-*-*

Clint hadn’t intended to fall asleep on the flight back to New York. He’d managed to stay away the hours they spent getting from the edge of Dino Land to McMurdo, getting checked out by the doctors at the research station and even through Fury’s grilling of what had happened but once they were in the familiar confines of a SHIELD jet he’d dropped right off and didn’t open them again until the jet landed with a harsh jolt. 

Clint jerked against the straps of the seat as disorienting dream memories of the Quinjet buffeting him around as Tony yelled in panicky anger kicked his every fight reflexes into overdrive. He was nocking his bow when Steve stepped right in front of him. 

“Stand down, soldier,” Steve said softly. “Calm down, Hawkeye.”

Clint gulped in a lungful of air, and nodded at Steve as he lowered his bow. Jesus, he’d never had a problem with planes, jets or helicopters before. But then he’d never survived a plane crash either. He rubbed at his eyes, seeking out Phil’s prone body from he was still strapped to the gurney. “You know, I‘m calling dibs on piloting every single plane I get on in the future.”

Steve’s eyes were understanding. “I think we can make that happen.”

“I want this move to happen quickly, people,” Fury broke in. “Coulson is still more classified than damned near anything else in SHIELD, and it‘s going to stay that way.”

Hill nodded and was out the door of the jet, snapping out orders and clearing the deck of the helicarrier of nonessential personnel. 

Clint frowned in confusion as Sitwell and the female SHIELD agent hooked up various medical equipment to Phil and covered him with a blanket until only his head peaked through. 

“You were asleep when we decided to take him to the Avengers Tower,” Steve explained. 

Fury snorted. “Decided? Stark damn near blackmailed me.” 

Clint took that for an exaggeration. If there was anyone in the planet less likely to be blackmailed it was Nick Fury.

“If you can convince me that the Enterprise has a state-of-the-art cybernetics lab, I‘ll be willing to stay,” Tony said caustically. He‘d gotten a pair of red framed sunglasses from somewhere. “But last time I checked SHIELD schematics--”

“Top secret schematics,” Fury grumbled. 

“--I didn‘t see anything close to what I‘ll need,” Tony continued. “And I hate break this to you, Nick. But if you want to keep Agent a secret? Than the last thing you‘ll want is to have him opened up in the helicarrier. It‘ll take more than a couple of hours to get him up and running again.”

Fury inclined his head, his dark eyes narrowed and intent. “Then… you better get started Stark.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Inspiration finally struck me like lightning from Mjolnir. =D

Clint was waiting outside the doors to Tony's cybernetics lab for over thirty-two hours before the wait began to get to him, which spoke legions to how much he was invested in the outcome. It got to the point that Clint honestly lost track of time. He had tried to stay inside the lab initially, too worried about Phil to let him out of his sight, but Bruce had ushered him out after barely ten minutes. 

“Let us do our job, Clint,” Bruce had said, his hands holding Clint's shoulder in a gentle but still firm grip when he'd steered him out the lab doors. “Normally, I wouldn't be kicking you out... but most of the work will be very delicate. Tony and I need concentrate and you're not exactly helping with that.”

That he'd been getting in the way, and he knew it, was the only reason that Clint had allowed Bruce to push him out of that room instead of fighting to stay. No matter how much it tore at him to let Phil out of his sight, because Bruce had been right.

So for all those hours that he waited Clint paced or stood so still that his muscles ached until the building internal pressure of his bottled emotions forced him to move again. Natasha stayed at his side as much as she could only drifting away when Fury's orders demanded it, such as when she needed to give a more in depth report about the crash-landing and her observations about the events which took place in Dino Land. Steve also came and went at different times, always arriving with food he'd cooked himself, which were not only for Clint but also for Tony and Bruce in the lab.

Because they never left either.

Every time Steve came back out, he looked at Clint with those earnest blue eyes and told him with such fucking sincerity: “They're doing a good job, Clint.” 

That Clint didn't even feel the itch to punch him spoke worlds about how much Clint liked and respected the guy because he didn't believe a word. He _couldn't_ believe it, at least not until Phil opened up his gorgeous eyes again. Natasha's claim that hope was a poison made more sense to him than it ever had before.

Clint didn't sleep.

It felt like he was on a mission. One where if he slept then his enemies would catch up to him. One where he had no choice but to be on the move, and stay on the move. One where he needed to stand on the razor edge of alertness and constant adrenaline rushes, while also staying put and _not_ engaging, all without burning out. Only in this particular mission any misstep, instead of costing Clint _his_ life, he'd lose _Phil's_ , and everything that could tip the balance whether for good or ill was completely and utterly out of his hands.

Oh, Clint was aware that his attitude wasn't rational. He could get a full night's sleep and it wouldn't change a damned thing but he couldn't get past the gut certainty that if he stood down, then Phil would die. And... it didn't help that doubts were beginning to creep up on him as he paced. Now that they were home and nearly every member of his team was safe and sound, the thoughts he'd been forcing away came back. They wouldn't be denied anymore. Those first doubts he'd had when Phil broke their need-to-know.

Phil wasn't human. 

Clint's own feelings for him hadn't changed one bit, but where they reciprocated? He'd thought Phil liked him... or at the very least that he was attracted to him. He been using the past several months of how much they've been spending together as proof of that. But... Phil was an android.

How much of their relationship was real? How much of Phil was real? Did Phil even feel anything? Or was it just clever Stark programming? The questions circled his mind, returning over and over again no matter how much he told himself that it didn't matter.

Tony had robot minions who could be as cute as puppies for all that they were giant robotic arms capable of crushing human flesh and bone with barely any effort or just a bit of carelessness. And then there was JARVIS. Clint honestly liked JARVIS even more than some flesh and blood people that he worked with in SHIELD. Clint was convinced that JARVIS was a true A.I. And he didn't just think that because he had a low, dry sense of humor that always made Clint laugh. He was smart enough to keep up with Tony, and Bruce. How could he not be an A.I.? Yet Tony never admitted it only reminding them all what JARVIS stood for: Just Another Very Intelligent System. 

Clint hadn't cared what Stark had said but now it bothered him and it made him think some ugly questions. How much of Phil's actions was just him following the programs set in place by Howard Stark? How much of what Phil _was_ , his kind nature and smart-ass character which Clint admired and cared for so damned much, was real? 

How could Clint ever know?

Then Clint was struck by a particularly horrifying thought: How much of Phil's actions were under his own will? How much of that was because Phil had no choice but to obey his programming? Did he even get the choice to say no to Clint? How about when he asked Phil out? Did Phil say yes because he wanted to? Or did he merely say yes to Clint because he had to?

Clint tried not to think about it because it made his head and heart ache but the doubts ate at him, squirming in his guts like biting snakes leaving him hurting and nauseated. He didn't have enough information on what made Phil work.

“Barton.”

Clint jerked his head up from staring blankly at the floor and saw Fury looking at him with an assessing eye. His face was unreadable.

“Fury. Sir,” Clint said dully, in belated acknowledgment. 

Fury snorted, strode over and sat next Clint in the stuffed chair Natasha had dragged to the hall over a day ago. They sat next to each other for several minutes in silence before Clint broke. 

“How long have you known about Phil?” he asked flatly.

Fury leaned forward, staring at the closed lab door. “His entire fucking life.” He turned towards Clint, the fall of his gaze was heavy with intent. “And yes, Barton, he's _alive_. He may not be like you and me, but he's a person. He lives and he can die. He's not a goddamned Pinocchio. He doesn't have to be flesh and blood to be a real boy.” 

Fury's eye narrowed and his entire body-language became so threatening that prickles of unease trickled down Clint's spine and his fingers twitched for his bow to have a weapon to defend himself. 

“And if you don't agree with me...” Fury's voice trailed off, but the look in his single eye was full of dark promise.

Clint led out a shaky sigh, feeling weirdly relieved at Fury's words and his threat. While Fury was one of the best liars on the planet Clint believed him about Phil. It wasn't like they were on a mission, Fury wouldn't be saying these things if he didn't believe it. 

“No, sir. But...” Clint chewed on his lower lip, looking at the closed lab door. “How human is he? I mean, I know he's not human but...” Clint stopped, frustrated at trying to express his questions. 

What was the value of a digital soul? Or the depth of feeling in a cybernetic heart?

“In some ways, he's better than we could ever be,” Fury said looking back at the lab, his voice softer. Fury snorted in wry amusement, “And I don't just mean the physical stuff.” 

The warm affection in Fury's voice was stunning. Fury never let down his guard this much. Ever. At least never around Clint. 

Fury continued, the look of his eye distance but fond as if he was remembering some treasured memories. “He's doesn't waver in his convictions. He's loyal in a way I have _never_ come across. And trust me, I've looked. And for all that he isn't human, he's never lost faith in us.” Fury looked back at Clint. “I can't say the same. Can you?”

Mutely, Clint shook his head.

“If I had to make a choice between _him_ and the lives of you and any ten other people, I'd pick him without hesitating. And he'd be the first to yell me for it. So if you're asking me if he's worth caring for? Worth your time? Then I think you know the answer to that.”

Clint nodded. Hell, all those traits were part of the reason that Clint had fallen head over heels in the first place. Hope bubbled up in his chest. “But does he feel like we do?”

The assessing look in Fury's eyes brought a burn of a blush to Clint's cheeks. “No. He doesn't,” Fury said bluntly.

Clint's stomach dropped to his knees.

“But he does have emotions, Barton. He just doesn't feel the same depths like you and me. I think there are a few that he simply can't feel. Hell, I've never seen him mad enough to lose control, and nor would I care to,” Fury snorted. “He's not perfect. So, I'm going to give the _only_ piece of advice I'll ever give you about your relationship and don't come crying to me if you don't listen. Whatever the hell you're feeling? Tell him. Don't hold it back and think he'll figure it out. He can read targets because he devotes days to studying them, and he has the help of a lot of human analysts. People he's close to is another story, hell it's an entire other library. He's too aware of the privacy rights of those he considers friends, of those he respects, and he'll honor those rights unless he gets orders otherwise. So when it comes to you, don't expect him to always be able to read your body language. Or for him to deduce your emotional needs and mind like a damned telepath.”

“Oh,” Clint managed, stunned by this news. He'd never thought... Phil was so amazing that he didn't think that any problems in their relationship could arise from his side. But... if intimate human things were difficult for him, it would explain why even after being together for several months Phil had never told him what he felt about him. 

He may not even realize how badly Clint needed and _longed_ to hear it.

Fury stood up with a soft shush of his leather coat. “And Barton, if you think that Coulson isn't invested in this thing you have together? Then your eyesight is not as nearly great as you've been bragging.” 

Before Clint could speak the smart-ass remark that sprung to his mind, the door to the lab opened.

Simultaneously, Fury and Clint turned.

Tony's scruffy face peered at them through welding goggles which he pulled off. “Don't go anywhere now, Nick. We're ready to try waking him up.”

Clint's heart felt like it took a leap for the atmosphere.  
*-*-*-*

Tony's words aside, it took another hour before he and Bruce began the procedure to wake Phil up. Fury proved to be the main obstacle, as he reminded them all that Phil had protocols to react in a rather violent fashion when captured by enemy forces. And with the grim possibility that Phil wouldn't be able to access his memories right away (the or 'at all' was silently implied) or even that he'd only get limited access then they had to take into account how he'd react if he didn't recognize them. 

Considering that every member of the Avengers and all of SHIELD were too aware of the large levels of smack-down that Phil could bring when he felt like kicking ass... well, no one was willing to take the risk of being confused for an enemy. Unless they're an idiot, according to Fury.

Clint had been perfectly happy and willing to be said idiot only to be shot down by his teammates. Clint probably would've ignored them and done it anyway even willing to risk Natasha's wrath if Bruce hadn't sucker punched him with a couple of simple questions.

“Clint... how do you think Phil would feel if he hurt you?” Bruce asked in a calm voice. His exhaustion evident by the sallowness of his skin and three-day stubble on his chin. “How would you feel in his place?”

Clint closed his mouth on his angry protest. He clenched and unclenched his fists as the images played out his brain. He knew exactly how he'd feel. Hell, he'd been feeling it since Phil's collapse and how Clint had failed in protecting him. 

“Alright,” he gritted out, conceding Bruce's point.

“Good,” Fury growled, clearly over their drama already. “Now, if you people don't mind. I want my good eye back before the night is over.”

Ultimately, they decided to remain in the Avengers Tower for the procedure. They ended up in one of the lower stories usually reserved for the fabrication of the Iron Man suits. It was a secure clean room with several electrical devices and construction arms. Clint, his teammates and Fury ended up behind a blast window (apparently Tony also tested the Iron Man weapons there too). Phil had been moved beforehand by Tony so he was already in place, lying naked and flat on his back on a non-magnetic and non-conductive metal-looking table. Wires ran into his mouth, ears, nose and belly button. They could almost be mistaken for a bizarre life-support system, if it wasn't for the fact that the wires were all connected to various mechanical arms which that looked very similar to Tony's robot minions only these were much smaller and clearly more advanced in fine motor capability.

Clint found it all creepy as hell and he could barely look at the setup without his skin crawling. He knew it would end up staring in more than few nightmares regardless of what happened. 

Finally, Tony gave JARVIS an order to begin. Startling, the mechanical arms disengaged all the wires leading into Phil before disappeared into the ceiling, walls and floor leaving the white room with only one occupant.

For seconds which felt like years, nothing happened. Clint didn't breathe, as he stared through the mirrored glass. He urged Phil to move, with his whole heart and soul, he willed Phil to wake up. _Come on, Phil. Please. Please. Wake up._

“Come on, Agent,” Tony whispered, nearly inaudible to everyone even as close as they were standing. “Starks don't break easily.” The only one who reacted to Tony was Steve who shot him a sharp, assessing look.

Natasha's hands grasped Clint's shoulders. 

Clint inhaled sharply, being the first one to see the delicate flutter of Phil's eyelids just before they opened revealing that longed for brilliant blue.

Then everyone held their breath, as his hands curled and uncurled.

Clint's heart was in his throat as he watched Phil finally sit up and look around, but when Phil didn’t say anything for a minute dread swept over him and threatened to drown him, because… Phil could at times be downright taciturn but the current way he was acting was another beast altogether. There was a stiffness in his movements, a --Clint hated to even think it-- stilted (robotic) awkwardness that had nothing at all of Phil’s usual fluid range of motion. Even his face was disturbingly still. Not as if he was trying for a professional expressionless mask but rather as if he didn't even know he could move it.

Clint's dread grew heavier and nearly intolerable, as he waited for any hint that Phil was still in there.

Fury let loose a breath. “Okay, people, let's keep it simple,” he said coolly, before he pressed down on the button which activated the intercom system between the observation area and the experiment room. “What‘s your name?”

Phil‘s head tilted up. His eyes tracked the spots where the hidden speakers were in the clean room. He answered after a few seconds. “This unit is designated: Cybernetic Official Unit for Lawful Security Operations Number 01.” 

Fury released the intercom button. He whispered, low and pained, “Damn it.” He closed his eye. His hand came up and pressed against his face, hiding him

Disbelieving, Clint stared at Fury for a second before he looked around the small room only to have every one of his teammates, even Natasha, refuse to meet his eyes.

And all at once it became too much and something deep inside Clint snapped with an ugly crack.

More furious than he could remember being in ages, he stormed out of the room, yelling at JARVIS to unlock the door leading into the clean room and ignoring the calls from his teammates. He hadn't tolerated the past days of _Hell_ just to have end like this. _Phil_ wasn't going to end like this not after all Clint had suffered. Not after he'd gone and made Clint fall in _love_ with him by being utterly amazing. No fucking way! 

Clint slammed the door open in his rage.

“No!” He shouted as he stalked up to Phil who just looked at him with unblinking eyes. He clamped his hands on Phil’s shoulders and only just kept from shaking him so he glared at him instead. He snarled, “No! You don't get to do this to me you bastard! You don’t get to make me fall in love with you and then do this to me. Don't you fucking dare, you fucking bastard!”

“I–” Phil said and something seemed to awaken inside him because his lips widened into a smile which looked thoroughly human, warm and so completely _different_ than how he'd looked upon waking up that Clint froze. He couldn’t even breathe out of fear of snuffing out the tiny ember hope which that smile had sparked. 

“My name,” Phil said slowly, “is Phil Coulson.” Then the bastard raised his eyebrows at him like it was Clint who had to explain his actions. Jesus, as if his reaction wasn‘t perfectly justified. “It‘s not now nor has ever been ‘fucking bastard’, Clint.”

Overwhelmed by relief at having Phil be back at his normal levels of smartass, of just having him _back_ , Clint jumped up and flattened Phil to the metal table. He kissed him for all he was worth which, considering it was Phil, it was a lot of worth. He pulled back to whisper threateningly, “If you ever do anything like this again. If you ever sacrifice yourself like that... if you so much as _think_ that it's okay for me to leave you behind. I’ll _kill_ you myself!” 

Phil pressed his hand to Clint’s neck, holding him in place as he kissed him back. “Okay,” he agreed softly against Clint’s mouth. 

Clint pulled back again to look at him, devouring the familiar light of consciousness –of recognition – in Phil’s mobile expression and eyes.

“I’m fucking serious,” Clint said threateningly, still more than bit angry. “You tell me to leave you behind like that again and I‘ll shoot you especially now that I know Stark can fix you.” The memory of Phil going down onto the grass, brought sudden tears to Clint’s eyes and he furiously swiped at them before burying his head against Phil’s neck. “You will never to that to me again…” He growled and tightened his grip on Phil’s bare waist.

Phil’s warming hand settled against the back of Clint's head, and the touch of his fingers against his scalp made Clint shiver in mute relief. 

“I bet you have a lot of questions for me,” Phil said quietly.

“Some,” Clint agreed hoarsely, finally daring to look up after he figured the waterworks wouldn’t make an unexpected return. “Fury‘s answered a lot of them.”

“Question time will have to take place later,” Fury said as he walked through the doorway. There was an actual smile on Fury’s face, a small one, but it was there. The rest of the team followed him with Tony uncharacteristically hanging back.

“We just wanted to welcome you back, Agent Coulson,” Steve said smiling widely. His cheeks were becoming redder by the second as Clint refused to move from Phil. 

_Tough,_ Clint thought. _Steve will just have to deal._

“Yes, it really is, Captain Rogers,” Phil agreed.

Finally breaking as the public display of affection became too much for him, Steve turned and snagged Bruce and Tony as he walked away. He said over his broad shoulder, “Um, we'll just...give you both some privacy.”

“Have fun with the test drive, Clint!” Tony called flippantly.

Natasha looked amused and only followed when Clint gave her the 'all okay' hand-sign. 

Fury snorted and also turned to leave. “Coulson, according to your cover story you'll be on medical leave until the end of the week and then on light duties, but I expect your report first thing in the morning.”

“You got it, boss.”

Clint didn't bother to wait until they were alone when he kissed Phil again, who welcomed the kiss and held Clint tighter. They stayed way for several more minutes before Clint climbed off Phil and he lay down beside him. Phil's left arm shifted to give him a cushion to rest his head. 

“How are you? Really?” Clint asked as he traced the lines of scars on Phil's chest and down to his thighs with his eyes before daring to touch them. They weren't angry red like they would have been on a human, instead they looked old, or at least faded like they were old wounds. The cuts looked to be firmly sealed from some sort of adhesive, would be Clint's guess. “Stark didn't exactly explain much at least not in words that didn't need to be translated from genius to normal English.” 

“A full diagnostic will take about an hour, but all preliminary scans are in the green, Actually, everything seems to be running better than ever. I think Stark added a couple of upgrades,” Phil said, looking both amused and annoyed. Then his expression became serious as he turned his head to look at Clint. “You're taking it pretty well. About what I am, I mean. I expected less... understanding. You were mad about it before.”

“You've been out of it for nearly five days,” Clint explained, looking up to the white ceiling, absently wondering how much space there was beyond the tiles for Tony to have hidden so many tech toys up there. “I've had a lot of time to think. Too much time.”

“You love me.”

Clint's mouth went dry. Because he had said that hadn't he? He'd been avoiding even _thinking_ those words to himself and then he'd gone and said it loud and clear. Hell, he'd even had witnesses who'd heard him yelling it at Phil. Which, okay, had not been how Clint had thought he'd ever say those words to him. Or that he'd ever get the courage to say them to anyone, frankly.

Phil's right hand reached across his chest to grasp Clint's left hand, interlocking their fingers. Clint tightened his hold to a crushing grip.

“Yeah,” Clint finally managed to croak out. “You know you don't have to say it back. You don't even have to feel the same. Fury explained that you don't exactly get the whole range of emotions like a human.”

“He's right,” Phil said quietly. “I don't seem to feel the same depths. I've never felt strong anger, usually just annoyance or irritation, so I don't know if I'm even capable of being in love like humans define it. At least, I haven't felt it yet. But I do know that you're part of me.”

Startled, Clint got up on his elbow to look down at Phil. “What do you mean?”

“I've added you to the core of what I am. I'm the only one who can modify that,” Phil explained, sitting up to face Clint. His left hand cupped Clint's jaw. “I have to be careful about what I chose because whatever I add is something that I can't remove even if I wanted to. You, Clint Francis Barton, are part of my core identity software until the day I die.”

Clint swallowed, shaken by this revelation. “What – what if you want to, remove me, I mean?”

Phil kissed his forehead and then Clint's lips. “I don't see that happening. I know you. Nothing about you would make me regret adding you to everything I am. You can trust in that.”

It sounded a lot like love to Clint's mind. The crazy man, android... Phil had pretty much admitted that he wanted Clint forever. He'd _chosen_ Clint. By his own freewill.

Okay, all his doubts felt really ridiculous doubts and Fury –that bastard– had been right about him not realizing how deeply invested Phil was in them. Clint huffed with laughter and buried his head against Phil's bare neck as tears threatened again. Jesus, it's a good thing his teammates had left because his reputation as a badass was getting absolutely ruined right now. 

“I think Stark didn't get all the bugs out of you,” he said wetly. 

“Hmm, that'd be a good excuse,” Phil teased gently, his hands sliding up and down Clint's back. Clint relaxed little by little. “If I hadn't done it before Stark ever got his hands on me.”

Whatever smartass respond Clint had been about to say was lost as he yawned widely. Drowsiness hit him with all the force of a Hulk fist, as if had been waiting for him to let down his guard.

“When was the last time you slept?” Phil asked, concerned. 

“A while,” Clint managed around another yawn. Then he yelped, blinking as Phil took him with him as he slid off the table, holding him up with ease. “Crap! Dammit, don't do that!” Clint cried, clutching at Phil, half expecting to be dropped on his ass considering before realizing that Phil was holding him like he weighed nothing.

“You've been holding back on me,” Clint accused him after a belated second of being thoroughly distracted by the thoughts of what they could do –and positions they could explore– with Phil not needing to hide his super-human strength. 

“I know you know the meaning of classified,” Phil said, as he walked them out of the clean room, completely uncaring that he was still naked. 

“What else can you do?”

“A lot, but I think a better question would be, what don't I have to do?”

“What don't you have to do?” Clint parroted, agreeably. Shifting, in place, so that he could peek over Phil's shoulder to watch his bare ass move. 

“Well, for one, I don't actually have a gag-reflex.... or need to breathe,” Phil said.

Clint whipped his gaze over to meet Phil's amused eyes. 

Forget sleep. Sleep was for the weak. Or for people who couldn't get Phil into their beds.

“Bed. Bed, we need a bed.”

“Yeah, so you can sleep,” Phil said, ruthlessly.

“Oh, come on!”

“Coming will be for afterward.” 

Even if Clint hadn't confessed it, he probably would have figured out he was in love right then in there, because Phil's terrible pun didn't make him groan and protest. 

Instead, it made Clint burst out laughing.


End file.
